STEVE HOYLE had called early at the Judge’s to see Stella the morning after John’s encounter in the hall. As he paced restlessly back and forth waiting the return of Stella’s maid, he was evidently in an ugly humour.

When he heard the story at the hotel late the night before, that his hated rival in politics and society had dared to venture into Judge Butler’s home, he could not believe it. And the idea that Stella should receive him had cut his vanity to the quick.

The richest young man in the county, he aspired to be the most popular, and he had long enjoyed the distinction in the estimation of his friends of being the handsomest man in his section of the state. In his own estimation there had never been any question about this. And beyond a doubt he was a magnificent animal. Six feet tall, a superb figure, somewhat coarse and heavy in the neck, with smooth, regular features. He was slightly given to fat, but his complexion was red and clean as a boy’s, and he might well be pardoned his vanity when one remembered his money.

His father, the elder Hoyle, who had avoided service in the war by hiring a substitute, had emerged from the tragedy far wealthier than when he entered it. Some people hinted that if the Treasury Agents, who had stolen the cotton of the country under the absurd and infamous Confiscation Act of Congress, would speak, they might explain this fortune. They had never spoken. The old fox had been too clever and his tracks were all covered.

Steve had recently met Stella at one of her school receptions in Washington while on business for his father, yielded instantly to her spell, and they were engaged. He felt that he had condescended to honour the Judge by marrying into his family.

Butler never had been a slave owner, and in spite of his fawning ambitions as a turncoat politician and social aspirant, he was still poor—so poor in fact that he could scarcely keep up appearances in the Graham mansion. Steve planned to live there after his marriage in a style befitting his wealth and social position. He noted the faded covering on the old mahogany furniture and determined to make it shine with new plush on his advent as master.

He walked over to the hall mirror and adjusted his tie. He was getting nervous. Stella was keeping him waiting longer than usual. She was doing this to tease him, but he would have his revenge when they were married.

Steve had quickly come to a perfect understanding with the Judge. The Piedmont Congressional District, which included several mountain counties, was overwhelmingly Democratic. The Judge, as the Republican leader, had promised Steve to put up no candidate, but to support him as an independent if the approaching Democratic Convention nominated John Graham for Congress.

Steve as a man of capital proclaimed that the money interests of the North should be cultivated and that a deal with the enemy was always better than a fight.

Sure of his success, he had already promised Stella with boastful certainty a brilliant social season in Washington as his wife. In spite of his immense vanity, he knew that this promise had gone far to win her favour. She too was vain of her beauty, and her social ambitions were boundless. He had received her mild professions of love with a grain of salt. She was yet too young and beautiful to take life seriously. His fortune and his good looks had been the magnets that drew her. But he was content. He would make her love him in due time. He was sure of it. Yet on two occasions he had observed that she had shown a disposition to flirt skilfully and daringly with every handsome fellow who came her way—and it had distressed him not a little.

He was angry and uneasy this morning, and made up his mind to assert his rights with dignity—and yet with a firmness that would leave no question as to who was going to be master in his house. He decided to nip Stella’s acquaintance with John Graham in the bud on the spot. That he had called for any other reason than to see her, never occurred to him.

When Maggie, Stella’s little coal black maid, at length reappeared, she was grinning with more than usual cunning.

“Miss Stella say she be down in a minute,” she said with a giggle.

“You’ve been gone a half hour,” Steve answered frowning.

“I spec I is,” observed Maggie, continuing to giggle and glance furtively at Steve.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nuttin.”

He held up a quarter and beckoned. She hastened to his side.

“I want us to be good friends.”

She took the money, grinned again and said: “Yassah!”

“Now, what have you been giggling about?”

“Mr. John Graham wuz here last night!”

“So I hear. Did he see Miss Stella?”

“Deed he did! Dat’s what dey all come fur. She so purty dey can’t hep it.”

“How long did he stay?”

“Till atter midnight!”

“Indeed!”

“Yassah!” Maggie went on, walling her eyes with tragic earnestness. “She play de pianer fur ’im long time in de parlour, an’ he sing fur her an’ den she sing fur ’im.”

Steve cleared his throat angrily.

“Yassah! an’ atter dey git froo singin’ she take him out fur er stroll on de lawn an’ dey go way down in de fur corner an’ set in one er dem rustics fur ’bout er hour. Den dey come in an’ bof un ’em set in de moonlight in de hammock right close side an’ side, and he talk low an’ sof, an’ she laugh, an’ laugh, an’ hit ’im wid er fan—jesso! Yassah. Sh! She comin’ now!”

The girl darted out of sight as Stella’s dress rustled in the hall above.

Steve pulled himself together with an effort, and met her at the foot of the stairs.

She made an entrancing picture as she slowly descended the steps, serenely conscious of her beauty and its power over the man below whose eyes were now devouring her. The flowing train of her cream-coloured morning gown made her look a half foot taller than she was. She had always fretted at her diminutive stature, and wore her dresses the extreme length to give her added height.

With a gracious smile she welcomed Steve and he attempted to kiss her. She repulsed him firmly and allowed him to kiss her hand.

“Stella dear,” he began petulantly, with an accent of offended dignity, “you must quit this foolishness! We have been engaged three weeks and I’ve never touched your lips.”

She laughed and tossed her pretty head.

“And we’re engaged!”

“Not yet married,” she observed, lifting her arched brows.

“I have honoured you with my fortune and my life.”

“Thanks,” she interrupted smiling.

Steve flushed and went on rapidly.

“Really, Stella, the time has come for a serious talk between us.”

She seated herself at the piano and ran her fingers lightly over the keys. Steve followed, a frown clouding his smooth handsome forehead.

“Will you hear me?” he asked.

“Certainly!” she answered, turning on him her big brown eyes. In their depths he might have seen a sudden dangerous light, had he been less absorbed in himself. As it was he only saw a smile lurking about the corners of her lips which irritated him the more.

“I understand that John Graham called on you last night?”

“Indeed, I hadn’t heard it,” she answered lightly.

“And stayed until after midnight.”

Stella sprang to her feet, looked steadily at Steve, frowned, walked to the door and called:

“Maggie!”

The black face appeared instantly.

“Yassum!” she answered, with eager innocence.

“Have you said anything about Mr. Graham’s visit last night?”

Maggie walled her eyes in amazement at such an outrageous suspicion.

“No, M’am! I aint open my mouf—has I Mister Steve?”

“Certainly not,” Steve answered curtly.

“I thought I heard your voice in the hall,” Stella continued, looking sternly at Maggie.

“Nobum! Twan’t me. I nebber stop er second. I pass right straight on froo de hall—nebber even look t’ward Mr. Steve.”

“You can go,” was the stern command. “Yassum!” Maggie half whispered, backing out the door, her eyes travelling quickly from Steve to her mistress.

“As my affianced bride,” he went on firmly, “I cannot afford to have you receive the man who is my bitterest enemy.”

With a smile, Stella quickly but quietly removed the ring from her hand and gave it to Steve, who stood for a moment paralysed with astonishment. “Stella!” he gasped.

“The burden of your affianced bride is too heavy for my young shoulders.”

“Forgive me dear!” he pleaded.

“I prefer to receive whom I please, when and where I please, without consulting you. When I need a master to order my daily conduct, I’ll let you know.

“But, Stella, dear!”

“Miss Butler—if you please!”

“I—I only meant to tell you that I love you desperately, that I’m jealous and ask you not to torture me—you cannot mean this, dear?”

“How dare you address me in that manner again!” she cried, flaming with anger, the tense little figure drawn to its full height.

Steve attempted to take her hand, but the fierce light in her eyes stopped him without a word.

“Leave this house instantly!” she said, with quiet emphasis.

With deep muttered curses in his soul against John Graham, Steve turned and left.

As he passed through the doorway, a black face peeped from the alcove and giggled.