"Harry, you are a—a—Yankee."
"But that doesn't affect my feelings for you."
"A true Yankee ought not to care for a Southern girl."
"And why not?"
"Well, I don't know exactly. But it doesn't seem right."
"Do you mean to say that a Southern girl ought not to care for the man who is fighting as his conscience dictates?" he demanded, turning a trifle pale.
"No, no, Harry! I honor you for sticking to your principles. But we had better say no more at present on this subject." She glanced down the garden path. "See, St. John is coming. Let go my hands."
He dropped her hands and took a seat on the other side of the summerhouse, and a moment later St. John Ruthven presented himself at the doorway.
MEETING OF THE COUSINS.