ng in chains from Calhoun Street,
Phyl picking roses in the garden seemed to him the prettiest picture he
had seen for a long time, but it did not give him pleasure; it stirred the
first vague uneasy recognition that his chains had wrought. He had no
right to look at any girl but Frances--and he had been looking at her for
a year without the picture stirring any wild enthusiasm in his mind.

Miss Pinckney's revelation as to Silas had come to him as a blow. He could
not tell what had hit him or exactly where he had been hit. What did it
matter to him if a dozen men were in love with Phyl? What right had he to
feel injured? None, yet he felt injured all the same.

As he sat by her now in the lamp-lit piazza, the thought that would not
leave his mind was the thought that Silas had kissed her.

Behind the thought was the feeling of the boy who sees the other boy going
off with the ripest and rosiest apple.

And Phyl was charming to-night. Something seemed to have happened to her,
increasing the power of her personality, her voice seemed ever so slightly
changed, her manner was different.

This was a woman, distinct from the girl of yesterday, as the full blown
from the half blown flower.

They talked of trifles for a while, and then he remembered something that
he ought to have mentioned before. The Rhetts were giving a dance and they
had sent an invitation to Phyl as well as Miss Pinckney.

"It will be here by the morning post, I expect," said he. "You'd like to
go, wouldn't you?"

Phyl hesitated for a moment. "Is that--I mean is that young lady Miss
Frances Rhett--the one who called here?"

"Yes," cut in Pinckney, "those are the people. You'll come, won't you?"

"Is Miss Pinckney going?"

"She--of course she's going, she goes to everything, and old Mrs. Rhett is
anxious to meet you."

"It is very kind of them," said Phyl. "Yes, I'll come." But she spoke
without enthusiasm, and it seemed to him that a chill had come over her.

Did she know of his entanglement with Frances Rhett? And could it be--

He put the question aside. He had no right to indulge in any fancies at
all about Phyl as regarded himself.

Then Miss Pinckney came out on the piazza and Phyl rose to go into the
house.

CHAPTER IX

When Silas Grangerson left the cemetery of St. Michael's he walked for
half a mile without knowing or caring in what direction he was going.

Phyl had done more than slap his face. She had slapped his pri