A SCENE IN THE SUMMERHOUSE.
In years gone by Marion and Harry Powell, as little girl and boy, had thought a good deal of each other.
Now, as the pair faced once more, much of the old feelings came back, and pretty Marion found herself blushing deeply, she could not tell exactly why.
She despised Harry's uniform, yet she felt that he looked remarkably handsome in it, and not such an awful bear of a Yankee, after all. The manliness of the young surgeon's superior had likewise made a deep impression upon her.
Before going into the house Mrs. Ruthven had invited the young man to remain to dinner, and he had readily accepted the invitation. But he was by no means anxious to go into the house with the others.
"It is so nice and cool in the garden, Marion," he said. "Let us remain out here for a while, if you have no objections."
"As you will, Harry. But we need not stand. Let us go down to the old summerhouse. Of course you remember that place."
"To be sure, Marion—I remember it only too well. How you used to bring in the flowers and make bouquets and wreaths, and open a flower store and bid me buy——"
"And you wouldn't buy, more than half the time," she laughed. "You always were somewhat contrary, Harry. Is that what made you turn Yankee?"