xt farm. Pinckney used to watch the crease of Breeze's neck, above
the collar, and curse.

Coming upon Miss Austin one morning, she had said, "Come--I want to
introduce you to Miss War-field." Pinckney had demurred, and offered as
an excuse that he was smoking. "Nonsense, Charles," said the girl; "I
have told her you are coming." Pinckney threw away his cigar and
followed, and the presentation was made. Miss Warfield drew herself
almost unusually erect after courtesying, as if in protest at having to
bow at all. She was so tall that, as Emily stood between them, he could
meet Miss War-field's iron-gray eyes above her head. It was the first
time in Pinckney's life that he had consciously not known what to say.

"I was so anxious to have you meet Charles before he left," said Emily.
Evidently, his fiancee had been expatiating upon him to this new
friend, and if there is anything that puts a man in a foolish position
it is to have this sort of preamble precede an acquaintance.

"An anxiety I duly shared, Miss Warfield, I assure you," said he; which
was a truth spoiled in the uttering--what the conversational Frenchman
terms _banale_.

"Thank you," said Miss Warfield, very simply and tremendously
effectively. Pinckney, for the second time with this young lady, felt
himself a schoolboy. Emily interposed some feeble commonplaces, and
then, after a moment, Miss Warfield said, "I must go for my ride"; and
she left, with a smile for Emily and the faintest possible glance for
him. She went off with Breeze; and it gave Pinckney some relief to see
that she seemed equally to ignore the presence of the man who was her
acknowledged lover, as he trotted on a smart cob beside her. That
evening, when he went on the piazza, after tea, he found her sitting
alone, in one corner, with her hands folded: it was one peculiarity
about this woman that she was never seen with work. She made no sign of
recognition as he approached; but, none the less, he took the chair
that was beside her and waited a moment for her to speak. "Have you
found Miss Austin?" said the beauty, with the faintest trace of malice
in her coldly modulated tones, not looking at him. "I am not looking
for Miss Austin," said he; and she continued not looking at him, and so
this strange pair sat there in the twilight, silent.

What was said between them I do not know. But in some way or other
their minds met; for long after Miss Austin and her mother had returned
from some