“Eh! What?” stammered Drayton in confusion. His face had been a study with its varying expressions as Clifford talked. “Er—a—— Well, you see——”
“Do you mean that your feelings have changed, sir?” demanded Clifford his brow darkening.
“On the contrary,” exclaimed Drayton settling his neck ruffles hastily, “my esteem for Miss Harriet hath increased. But, captain, in America ’tis customary to consult the lady before such matters are arranged. I shouldn’t like anything done until her wishes are expressed.”
“Your delicacy does you great credit, sir,” spoke Clifford holding out his hand. “I have been wrong in my estimation of you.”
“And I appreciate your offer of assistance, Captain Williams.” Drayton shook his hand warmly, sincere admiration in his eyes. “’Twas handsomely done.”
“And now,” exclaimed Clifford almost gaily, “as our little affairs are settled, I must bring you in to dinner. The colonel’s wife hath commissioned me to do so.”
“I am not up to it yet, captain. I shall find a bed somewhere, and sleep a while longer. Odds life! how seedy lack of sleep doth make a man! Present my compliments to the ladies, will you?” Drayton sank back on the grass as he spoke.
“With pleasure, sir,” answered the other.
Punctiliously they saluted, and Clifford strode back to the house. John Drayton laughed softly.
“Now that,” he said, apostrophizing the tree, “that is what might be called an amende honorable. Whew! wouldn’t I like to see Harriet’s face when he tells her!”