Not long after, from the musicians’ bower the sound of Home, Sweet Home drifted over the poignant rose-scent, and presently the driveway resounded to rolling wheels and the voices of negro drivers, and the house-entrance jostled with groups, muffled in loose carriage-wraps, silken cloaks and light overcoats, calling tired but laughing farewells.

Katharine, on the step, found herself looking into Valiant’s eyes. “How can I tell you how much I have enjoyed it all?” she said. “I’ve stayed till the very last minute—which is something for one’s fourth season! And now, good-by, for we are off to-morrow for Hot Springs.” Her face may have been a little worn, a trifle hard under the emerald-tinted eyes, but her smile seemed friendly and unclouded.

Her father had long ago betaken himself homeward, and the big three-seated surrey—holding “six comf’table and nine fumiliah,” in the phrase of Lige the coachman—had returned for the rest: Judge Chalmers, the two younger girls and Shirley. Katharine greeted the latter with a charming smile. What more natural than that she should find herself straightway on the rear seat with royalty? The two girls safely disposed in the middle, the judge climbed up beside the driver, who cracked his whip and they were off.

The way was not long, and Katharine had need of despatch if that revengeful weapon were to be used which fate had put into her hands. She wasted little time.

“It seems so strange,” she said, “to find our host in such surroundings! I can scarcely believe him the same John Valiant I’ve danced with a hundred times in New York. He’s been here such a short while and yet he couldn’t possibly be more at home if he’d lived in Virginia always. And you all treat him as if he were quite one of yourselves.”

Shirley smiled enchantingly. “Why, yes,” she said, “maybe it seems odd to outsiders. But, you see, with us a Valiant is always a Valiant. No matter where he has lived, he’s the son of his father and the master of Damory Court.”

“That’s the wonderful part of it. It’s so—so English, somehow.”

“Is it?” said Shirley. “I never thought of it. But perhaps it seems so. We have the old houses and the old names and think of them, no doubt, in the same way.”

“What a sad life his father had!” pursued Katharine dreamily. “You know all about the duel, of course?”

Shirley shrank imperceptibly now. The subject touched Valiant so closely it seemed almost as if it belonged to him and to her alone—not a thing to be flippantly touched on. “Yes,” she said somewhat slowly, “every one here knows of it.”

“No doubt it has been almost forgotten,” the other continued, “but John’s coming must naturally have revamped the old story. What was it about—the quarrel? A love-affair?”

“I—I don’t think it is known.”

But reluctant coldness did not deter the questioner. “Who was it said there was a petticoat back of every ancient war?” quoted Katharine, lightly. “I fancy it’s the same with the duello. But how strange that nobody knows. Some of the older ones must, don’t you think?”

“It’s so long ago,” murmured Shirley. “I suppose some could tell if they would.”

“Major Bristow, perhaps,” conjectured Katharine thoughtfully.

“He was one of the seconds,” admitted Shirley unhappily. “But by common consent that side of it wasn’t talked of at the time. Men in Virginia have old-fashioned ideas about women....”

“Ah, it’s fine of them!” pÆaned Katharine. “I can imagine the men who knew about that dreadful affair, in their Southern chivalry, drawing a cordon of silence about the name of that girl with her broken heart! For if she loved one of the two, it must have been Sassoon—not Valiant, else he would have stayed. How terrible to see one’s lover killed in such a way.... It was quickly ended for him, but the poor woman was left to bear it all the years! She may be living yet, here maybe, some one whom everybody knows. I suppose I am imaginative,” she added, “but I can’t help wondering about her. I fancy she would never wholly get over it, never be able to forget him, though she tried.”

Shirley made some reply that was lost in the whirring wheels. The other’s words seemed almost an echo of what she herself had been thinking.

“Maybe she married after a while, too. A woman must make a life for herself, you know. If she lives here, it will be sad for her, this opening of the old wound by John’s coming.... And looking so like his father—”

Katharine paused. There was a kind of exhilaration in this subtle baiting. Determined as she was that Shirley should guess at the truth before that ride ended, bludgeon-wielding was not to her taste. She preferred the keen needle-point that injected its poison before the thrust was even felt. She waited, wondering just how much it would be necessary for her to say.

Shirley stirred uneasily, and in the glimpsing light her face looked troubled. Katharine’s voice had touched pathos, and in spite of her distaste of the subject, Shirley had been entering into the feeling of that supposititious woman. There had come to her, like a touch of eery clairvoyance, the suggestion the other had meant to convey of her actual existence; and this was sharpened by the sudden recollection that Valiant had himself told her of the resemblance that Katharine recalled.

The judge, on the front seat, was telling a low-toned story over his shoulder for the delectation of Nancy and Betty, but Shirley was not listening. Her whole mind was full of what Katharine had been saying. She was picturing to herself this woman, her secret hidden all these years, hearing of John Valiant’s coming to Damory Court, learning of this likeness, shrinking from sight of it, dreading the painful memory it must thrust upon her.

“Suppose”—Katharine’s voice was dreamy—“that she and John met suddenly, without warning. What would she do? Would she say anything? Perhaps she would faint....”

Shirley started violently. Her hands, as they drew her cloak uncertainly about her, began to tremble, as if with cold. Something fell from them to the bottom of the surrey.

Through her chiffon veil Katharine noted this with a slow smile. It had been easier than she had thought. She said no more, and the carriage rolled on, to the accompaniment of giggles over the judge’s peroration. As it neared the Rosewood lane she leaned toward Shirley.

“You have dropped your fan,” said she “—and your gloves, too.... I might have reached them for you. Why, we are there already. How short the drive has seemed!”

“Don’t drive up the lane, Lige,” said Shirley, and her voice seemed sharp and strange even to herself. “The wheels would wake mother.” Katharine bade her good-by with careful sweetness, as the judge bundled her down in his strong friendly arms.

“No,” she told him, “don’t come with me. It’s not a bit necessary. Emmaline will be waiting for me.”

He climbed into her vacant place as the girls called their good nights. “We’ll all sleep late enough in the morning, I reckon,” he said with a laugh, “but it’s been a great success!”