Sometimes, when the evening air chanced to be warm enough, the guests and the household would assemble on one of the wide verandas and send for Uncle Mono to play for them while the gentlemen smoked their pipes and cigars and the ladies promenaded back and forth to the brisk tinkling of the banjo. They all enjoyed the touch of old-time custom when a number of the plantation negroes, young and old, crept up to within a respectful distance, looking on and listening. The nights were superb, the splendor of stars or moon and sky adding an almost weird sheen to the gray fields and silvery river. The pronounced atmosphere of isolation which broods over all those large low-country plantations gave to the guests at DeKay Place a comforting sense of liberty, as if the restraints of conventional life had been dissolved and dissipated, or had never come here. Some swings had been made of huge muscadine vines brought from the woods and suspended from the trees on the lawn. The young women, especially Miss Noble and Miss Crabb, found swinging most exhilarating sport. Moreton watched Cordelia as she oscillated, like a gay pendulum, in the soft night-light under the dusky boughs, until his heart timed its beating with her movements. He enjoyed every phase of this delightful subtropical episode in his life. It did him good to see Reynolds returning to something like his old-time youthful enthusiasm and cheerfulness. Among them all it was silently noted how Mrs. Ransom and Reynolds were drawn towards each other. "Dunno 'bout dat big, dahk young ge'man flyin' roun' de young missus no how," muttered Uncle Mono to his colored companions; "seem lak mebbe she better look sha'p 'bout 'im. He sort o' 'sterious lookin' young man anyhow." Miss Crabb for some reason failed to win favor with the negroes. She was very much interested in them and tried hard to study them; but her inquiring manner and insistent tones of voice did not touch their warm African hearts. On the other hand, Miss Noble was a prime favorite with them all. "Bress dat sweet chile," said Uncle Mono, "she jes' lak de ripe peach on de eend ob a limb, she sort o' glimmer an' look too good fo' to pull off an' too ripe fo' to let erlone." "Dat same lak what de young boss f'om way off fink, I 'spec," ventured a colored listener. "He look at 'er 'mazin' sof an' hongry lak." "Wha' yo' know 'bout it?" stormed Uncle Mono. "Wha' business yo' got fo' to be a watchin' dem whi' folks? Fust ting yo' know yo' git yo' backbone wa'med up wid a stick! Better not be peekin' 'roun', _I_ tell yo'." "Ef yo' lak what yo' call peekin'," replied the other, with a comical grin, "jes' cas' yo' eye on dat young leddy dat's got de leetle book an' pencil; _she_ kin' peek fo' de Lor' sake!" Miss Crabb was pretty well aware of the delicacy of her situation, or, to put it fairly, the indelicacy of it; but she had gone too far to retreat. She must brave it through to the end.