“I am so sorry,” sighed Ailsa, resting her folded hands on her work and gazing through the open window.

Celia continued to sew without glancing up.  Presently she said: 

“I reckon I’ll have to tell you something about Colonel Arran after all.  I’ve meant to for some time past.  Because—­because my silence condemns him utterly; and that is not altogether just.”  She bent lower over her work; her needle travelled more slowly as she went on speaking: 

“In my country, when a gentleman considers himse’f aggrieved, he asks fo’ that satisfaction which is due to a man of his quality. . . .  But Colonel Arran did not ask.  And when it was offered, he refused.”  Her lips curled.  “He cited the Law,” she said with infinite contempt.

“But Colonel Arran is not a Southerner,” observed Ailsa quietly.  “You know how all Northerners feel——­”

“It happened befo’ you were born, Honey-bud.  Even the No’th recognised the code then.”

“Is that why you dislike Colonel Arran?  Because he refused to challenge or be challenged when the law of the land forbade private murder?”

Celia’s cheeks flushed deeply; she tightened her lips; then: 

“The law is not made fo’ those in whom the higher law is inherent,” she said calmly.  “It is made fo’ po’ whites and negroes.”

“Celia!”

“It is true, Honey-bird.  When a gentleman breaks the law that makes him one, it is time fo’ him to appeal to the lower law.  And Colonel Arran did so.”

“What was his grievance?”

“A deep one, I reckon.  He had the right on his side—­and his own law to defend it, and he refused.  And the consequences were ve’y dreadful.”

“To—­him?”

“To us all. . . .  His punishment was certain.”

“Was he punished?”

“Yes.  Then, in his turn, he punished—­terribly.  But not as a gentleman should.  Fo’ in that code which gove’ns us, no man can raise his hand against a woman.  He must endure all things; he may not defend himse’f at any woman’s expense; he may not demand justice at the expense of any woman.  It is the privilege of his caste to endure with dignity what cannot be remedied or revenged except through the destruction of a woman. . . .  And Colonel Arran invoked the lower law; and the justice that was done him destroyed—­a woman.”

She looked up steadily into Ailsa’s eyes.

“She was only a young girl, Honey-bud—­too young to marry anybody, too inexperienced to know her own heart until it was too late.

“And Colonel Arran came; and he was ve’y splendid, and handsome, and impressive in his cold, heavy dignity, and ve’y certain that the child must marry him—­so certain that she woke up one day and found that she had done it.  And learned that she did not love him.