r principles. But we had
better say no more at present on this subject." She glanced down the
garden path. "See, St. John is coming. Let go my hands."

He dropped her hands and took a seat on the other side of the
summerhouse, and a moment later St. John Ruthven presented himself at
the doorway.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MEETING OF THE COUSINS.

St. John had come up the garden path quickly, and had failed to notice
Harry Powell, although he had caught sight of a well-known dress which
Marion wore.

Now, when he saw the young surgeon, his face fell, for he had calculated
upon seeing Marion alone.

"Excuse me, Marion," he said, "I did not know you had company."

"Come in, St. John," replied the girl. "Do you not recognize my visitor?
It is Dr. Harry Powell."

"Oh!" St. John was much surprised, and showed it. "How do you do?" he
continued stiffly.

"Shake hands. You are cousins," went on Marion, not liking the dark look
which had come to St. John's face.

"Excuse me, but I cannot shake hands with one who wears that uniform,"
returned the spendthrift, drawing back. "I am surprised, Marion, to see
you upon such intimate terms with your country's foe."

Marion's face flushed, and she bit her lip. Harry Powell set his teeth
and then smiled coldly.

"I perceive you wear no uniform at all, St. John," he remarked
pointedly.

"No. My duty to my mother keeps me at home," stammered St. John.

"If all who have mothers were to remain at home we would have few
soldiers."

"It is a very great trial to me to have to remain at home," went on the
hypocrite smoothly. "Yet, to my notion, a man is far better off at home
than to be wearing a Yankee uniform."

"That is for each man to decide for himself."

St. John turned to Marion.

"Does your mother know that Dr. Powell is here?"

"Yes; she has invited him to dine with us."

"To dine with you!" exclaimed the spendthrift.

"Yes, what is wrong about that?" questioned Harry Powell.

"I thought she was a true and loyal Southern woman."

"I do not follow you," answered Harry Powell hotly. "The ties of blood
count for something, even in war times."

"They do not count for as much as that--to me," said St. John sourly.

"Then I presume you will not care to stop and dine with us, St. John,"
put in Marion.

"Thank you, no. I will remain another time--when it is more agreeable,
Marion."

So speaking, St. John bowed low to the girl, nodded slightly to the
young surge