At this St. John Ruthven winced.
"Well—er—I would go myself if my mother did not need me at home," he stammered. "She must have somebody to look after the plantation. We can't trust the niggers."
"Many men have gone to the front and allowed their plantations to take care of themselves. They place the honor of their glorious country over everything else."
"Well, my mother will not allow me to go—she has positively forbidden it," insisted St. John, anxious to clear his character.
This statement was untrue; he had never spoken to his mother on the subject, thinking she might urge him to go to the front. His plea that he must look after the plantation was entirely of his own making.
"Supposing we should lose in this struggle—what will become of your plantation then?"
At this St. John grew pale.
"I—I hardly think we will lose," he stammered. "We have plenty of soldiers."
"But not as many as the North has. General Lee could use fifty thousand more men, if he could get them."
"Well, I shall go to the front when I am actually needed, Marion; you can take my word on that. But won't you listen to what I have told you about my feeling for you?"