“Her way and mine are far apart—­are far apart.  I had better marry Vinie Mocket.”  He spoke half aloud and with bitterness, looking from the window toward Fontenoy.  Suddenly the water smarted in his eyes, and he stretched out his arms.  “Oh, pardon, love!” he whispered, “I love but you—­and I’ll love you to the end!” His fancy dwelt on Fontenoy.  It was for him enchanted land, the sleeping palace, strongly hedged.  “But I am not the appointed man,” he thought.  “I am a pauper, and no prince.  It is Ludwell Cary that goes in and out.”

CHAPTER VI

RAND COMES TO FONTENOY

“I never dance but by candlelight,” remarked Unity.  “A Congo in the heat of the afternoon, a jig before sunset,—­la!  I had rather plough by moonlight.  As well be a grasshopper in a daisy field!  Elegance by waxlight becomes rusticity in the sunshine,—­and of all things I would not be rustic!  Oh, Mr. Cary, I’ve caught my gown in this rosebush!”

Mr. Fairfax Cary knelt to release the muslin prisoner.  “Rusticity becomes you so that if I were a king, you should dance with me the livelong day.  But I’ll not grumble if only you’ll dance with me as soon as the candles are lit!  Last night you were all for that booby, Ned Hunter!”

“He’s no booby,” said Miss Dandridge.  “He is bashful—­though, indeed, I think he is only bashful in company!  We sat on the porch, and he told me the long history of his life.”

“Confound his impudence—­”

“Oh, it was interesting as—­as the Mysteries of Udolpho!  You are a long time over that briar, Mr. Cary.  There! thank you!  Listen to Mr. Pincornet’s fiddle.  Scrape, scrape, scrape!  The children are dancing, and Jacqueline is helping them.  Jacqueline is always helping some one.  But Mr. Pincornet thinks it is because she is in love with him.  He is sorry for her because he rather prefers me.  I am in love with him too.  So is Molly Carter, so is Anne Page, and so will be little Deb as soon as she is old enough.  He is fifty, and French, and a dancing master, and he wears an old, old, lace cravat and a powdered wig!  When are we going back to the house, Mr. Cary?”

“Let us walk a little farther!” pleaded the gentleman.  “It is cool and pleasant, with no fuss, and no Ned Hunter, with the history of his life, confound him!  Other men have histories as well as he!  Your gown looks so pretty against the leaves.  Let us walk down to the lower gate.”

Unity pursed her red lips, and considered the distance with velvety black eyes.  “I have on my dancing shoes,—­but perhaps you will help me across the brook!”

“I will,” declared Fairfax Cary, and, when the brook was reached, was as good as his word.

“I shall tell Uncle Dick to put safer stepping-stones,” quoth Miss Dandridge, with heightened colour.  “How thick the mint grows here!  We are at the gate, Mr. Cary.”

“Let us walk to the bend of the road!  The wild honeysuckle is in bloom there; I noticed it riding to Charlottesville the other morning.  It is just the colour of your gown.”