"Let me see, ball opened in June, did it not?"
She nodded impatiently.
"June!" He was thinking of his June flirting with Madeline Payne, and involuntarily glanced at the windows from whence could be seen the very trees under which they had wandered, himself and that fair dead girl, in early June. "Yes, the last of June—I remember,"—reflectively.
"And pray, from what event does your memory date?" exclaimed Cora, with strong sarcasm.
He glanced up quickly. "Why, Ma Belle, from your introduction to the hills and vales of Bellair, and the master of Oakley."
"Oh, I thought it was from the time you received your pistol wound."
Davlin smiled. "Yes, that scratch was given in June; but I don't date from trifles, Co."
"Oh! Well, I fancy it was not the fault of the hand that aimed the bullet, or rather of the heart, that you got a 'mere scratch.' I never believed in your card-table explanation of that affair, sir."
"Well, don't call me to account for your want of faith."
"I believe you promised yourself revenge on the fellow who shot at you. Why didn't you take it?"