He gave her the one keen look. And she met it, with her lips tightly pressed together. Then he smiled.
“Virginia, you will never forgive that Yankee, Brice.”
“I shall never forgive any Yankee,” she retorted quickly. “But we are not talking about him. I am thinking of the South, and of you.”
He stooped toward her face, but she avoided him and went back to the bench.
“Why not?” he said.
“You must prove first that you are a man,” she said.
For years he remembered the scene. The vineyard, the yellow stubble; and the river rushing on and on with tranquil power, and the slow panting of the steamboat. A doe ran out of the forest, and paused, her head raised, not twenty feet away.
“And then you will marry me, Jinny?” he asked finally.
“Before you may hope to control another, we shall see whether you can control yourself, sir.”
“But it has all been arranged,” he exclaimed, “since we played here together years ago!”