"And that's what soured him on the world?"
"Not altogether. He had a daughter—Margaret. She was the most beautiful woman in the world...." I suspect my voice broke a little just there, for there was a shade of respectful sympathy in the monosyllable with which he filled the pause. "He swore she should never marry a Northerner, but she did; I guess, being a Bohun, she had to, after hearing she must not. There were two of us that loved her, but she chose Sam Graham...."
"Why," he said awkwardly—"I'm sorry."
"I'm not: she was right, if I couldn't see it that way. They ran away— and so did I. I went East, but they came back to Radville. Colonel Bohun never forgave them, but they were very happy till she died. Betty's their daughter, of course: Sam's not the kind that marries more than once."
Duncan thought this over without comment until we reached our gate. There he paused for a moment.
"He's got plenty of money, I presume—old Bohun?"
"So they say. Probably not much now, but a great deal more than he needs."
"Then why doesn't somebody get after the old scoundrel and make him do something for that poor—for Miss Graham?" he asked indignantly.
"He tried it once, but they wouldn't listen. His conditions were impossible," I explained. "She was to renounce her father and take the name of Bohun———."
"What rot!" Duncan growled. "What an old fiend he must be! Of course he knew she'd refuse."