convincing whispers of
jealousy, and impartial in every act toward fellowman--all, all will
yield an inch to the smile of flattery.

"Fiddlesticks!" she exclaimed. "I am old enough to be your grandmother!"

The lorgnette never faltered, and Brent's eyes lowered in feigned
distress.

"Yes, I suppose so," he quietly admitted. "The fact is, when you come
out on the porch this way and begin to talk so pleasantly, I'm always
forgetting that you're so--so terribly old as you insist. I'll try to
remember, Miss Liz."

"I am not inviting old age," she smiled, with a freezing lack of mirth;
but yet she may have yielded the inch, for one of her thin hands went
timidly up to the iron gray curls which hung before her ears, and her
eyes turned to gaze dreamily over the fields as though in search of some
long past, golden memory.

His own eyes took this opportunity to cast another sly look at the
tell-tale goblet, hoping to light upon some method of spiriting it away.

"Mr. McElroy," she suddenly exclaimed, "I have been talking to brother
John, and have told him my views about you!"

Brent's mouth opened a moment in surprise and then he frankly began to
laugh.

"I'm glad I wasn't in hearing distance!"

"You might have heard to your advantage. I told him that I considered
marriage to some determined girl your only chance of reformation."

"Marriage!" he almost rose out of his chair. "Heavens, Miss Liz! I've
got an alarm clock that does that sort of thing!"

"Alarm clock?" she gasped. "Pray, what do you suppose marriage is?"

"I've never tried to suppose! I don't want to suppose"

She arose with dignity and went toward the door. There was another
minute, while he stood making humble apologies to which she seemed
indifferent, and then her voice came like the crackling of dry twigs. "I
bid you good morning, Mr. McElroy!"

CHAPTER IX

AT THE UNPAINTED HOUSE

Brent sat down and took a deep breath, as men do when they have narrowly
escaped disaster. He saw Zack on a mule, heading for the gate, and
called him.

"Uncle Zack," he whispered, when the old darky had come hat in hand up
the steps, "rustle me another julep!"

"Lawd, Marse Brent," he cast a suspicious glance toward the front hall,
"I'se gotter go clar to Marse Bob's an' cut his haih!" But, translating
the look, Brent gave a low laugh, saying:

"She won't be out again for awhile. Hustle, Zack! I've just been frozen
to death!"

The old man thrust the