Mrs. Eaton had a settled conviction that all undesirable persons were anarchists. To her nebulous vision innumerable immigrant ships were continually unloading anarchists in bulk, as merchantmen might unship consignments of Sea Island cotton or Jamaica rum; and every fresh appearance of the social unwashed was to her an advent of an atom from these incendiary cargoes.

“I hope you were careful about your receipt, Diana,” said Jacob Eaton, stopping to light a cigarette[7] at the tall candelabrum on the piano. “How far did your admirer walk to bring that consignment of pennies?”

[7]

“My admirer?” Diana shot a scornful glance at him. “I call it an intrusion.”

“Did he walk over from that little shop at Cross-Roads?” Mrs. Eaton asked. “I seem to remember a shop there.”

“It’s seven miles,” said Colonel Royall, speaking for the first time, “and the roads are bad. I think he is merely scrupulously honest, Diana,” he added; “I was watching his face.”

Diana flushed under her father’s eye. “I suppose he is,” she said reluctantly, “but, pshaw—six cents! He could have handed it to a servant.”

“Do you send the servants there?” Colonel Royall asked pointedly.

“No,” she admitted reluctantly, “I suppose he rarely sees any one from here, but there was Kingdom at the door.”

“Who insisted on his seeing you, you remember,” objected her father; “the soul of Kingdom-Come is above six pennies.”

“Well, so is mine!” exclaimed Diana pettishly.

“Seven miles in red clay mud to see you,” mocked Jacob Eaton, smiling at her.

“Nonsense!” she retorted.

“I don’t see why you take that tone, Jacob,” warned his mother a little nervously. “I call it bad taste; he couldn’t presume to—to—”

[8]“To walk seven miles?” her son laughed “My dear lady, I’d walk seventeen to see Diana.”

[8]

“My dear courtier, throw down your cloak in the mud and let me walk upon it,” retorted Diana scornfully.

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