St. John had come up the garden path quickly, and had failed to notice Harry Powell, although he had caught sight of a well-known dress which Marion wore.
Now, when he saw the young surgeon, his face fell, for he had calculated upon seeing Marion alone.
"Excuse me, Marion," he said, "I did not know you had company."
"Come in, St. John," replied the girl. "Do you not recognize my visitor? It is Dr. Harry Powell."
"Oh!" St. John was much surprised, and showed it. "How do you do?" he continued stiffly.
"Shake hands. You are cousins," went on Marion, not liking the dark look which had come to St. John's face.
"Excuse me, but I cannot shake hands with one who wears that uniform," returned the spendthrift, drawing back. "I am surprised, Marion, to see you upon such intimate terms with your country's foe."
Marion's face flushed, and she bit her lip. Harry Powell set his teeth and then smiled coldly.
"I perceive you wear no uniform at all, St. John," he remarked pointedly.
"No. My duty to my mother keeps me at home," stammered St. John.