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"No, not so easy; but those fellows are Arkansans, and they're in a bad humor with me."

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

My heart beat wildly and I wanted to ask if it was on my account; but I was too pusillanimous a coward, and when I feebly tried to look into her eyes she would not let me, which convinced me that she lacked candor. A dance ended. Gold-laced fellows came and sat on the veranda rail wiping wrists and brows with over-tasked handkerchiefs, and explaining the small mishaps of the floor. Two promenaders mentioned the hour. I gasped my amazement and extended my hand. "Good-bye."

"Why, I can read my safety in your face. You can't read anything in mine; you're afraid to look."

"Yes." She stooped low under the interlacing boughs and plunged with me into the double darkness.

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