no surface irritability of temper.  To his antagonists his self-command was often maddening.  Major Churchill was as disputatious as Arthur Lee, and an adept at a quarrel, but the talk of the impeachment went tamely on.  The Republican would not fight at Fontenoy, and at last the Major in a cold rage went away to the library—­first, however, watching the young man well on his way up the stairs and toward the blue room.  But Rand had not stayed in the blue room.  Restless and unhappy, the garden, viewed through his window, invited him.  He thought:  “I’ll walk in it once again; I’ll find the summer-house where I sat beside her,” and he had acted upon his impulse.  No one was about.  Within and without, the house seemed lapped in quiet.  He had been given to understand that the ladies were busy with household matters, and he believed the Carys to have ridden to Greenwood.  That afternoon he would mount Selim, and with Joab would go home to the house on the Three-Notched Road.

After the rain of the night before the garden was cool and sweet.  The drops yet lay on the tangle of old-fashioned flowers, on the box and honeysuckle and the broad leaves of the trees where all the birds were singing.  The gravel paths were wet and shining.  Rand walked slowly, here and there, between the lines of box or under arching boughs, his mind now trying to bring back the day when he had walked there as a boy, now wondering with a wistful passion if he was to leave Fontenoy without again seeing Jacqueline.  He meant to leave without one word that the world might not hear, but he thought it hard that he must go without a touch of the hand, without a “From my heart I thank you for your kindness.  Good-bye, good-bye!” That would not be much; Fontenoy might give him that.

He reached an edge of the garden where a thread-like stream trickled under a bank of periwinkle, phlox, and ivy, and on through a little wood of cedars.  The air was cool beneath the trees, and Rand raised his forehead to the blowing wind.  The narrow pathway turned, and he came upon Deb and Miranda seated upon the bare, red earth and playing with flower dolls.

Deb had before her a parade of morning-glories, purple and white, pink and blue, while Miranda sat in a ring of marigolds and red columbines.  Each was slowly swaying to and fro, murmuring to herself, and manipulating with small, darting fingers her rainbow throng of ladies.  Rand, unseen, watched the manoeuvres for a while, then coughed to let them know he was there, and presently sat down upon a root of cedar, and gave Deb his opinion of the flower people.  Children and he were always at their ease together.

“Hollyhocks make the finest ladies,” he announced gravely.  “Little Miss Randolph puts snapdragon caps upon them and gives them scarfs of ribbon grass.”

“Hollyhocks are not in bloom,” said Deb.  “I use snapdragon for caps, too.—­Now she has on a red and gold cap.  This is a currant-leaf shawl.”