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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

Camille, the youngest, whispered to her, whereupon she beckoned. "Oh!--oh, do come here!--Mr. Smith, I am the sister of Major Harper. You're from New Orleans? Does your mother live in Apollo Street?"

"Mine is Smith," I said, and we galloped.

I surrender, he said, with amiable ease.

"What do you see?" His frown scared me to my finger-tips.

"Ned Ferry! What does Ned Ferry know about my fitness?"

She threw my hand from her. "I know I do! I'm so unworthy to do it that I wouldn't have believed I could. You thought I was Charlotte Oliver--Heavens! boy, if you should breathe the atmosphere Charlotte Oliver has to live in! But understand again, for your soul's comfort, you haven't tempted me. Go, if you must; go, take your chances; and if you're spared ever to see your dear, dear little mother--"

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