“Mrs. Cardross asked me to-day what I thought might be the effect on Shiela if you came.  And, dear, I could not answer.  Mr. Cardross joined us, divining the subject of our furtive confab in the patio, and he seemed to think that you ought to come.

“There is no reason to hesitate in saying that the family would be very glad to count you as one of them.  Even a little snob like myself can see that there is, in this desire of theirs, no motive except affection for you and for Shiela; and, in a way, it’s rather humiliating to recognise that they don’t care a fig for the social advantage that must, automatically, accrue to the House of Cardross through such connections.

“I never thought that I should so earnestly hope for such an alliance for you; but I do, Garry.  They are such simple folk with all their riches—­simple as gentle folk—­kind, sincere, utterly without self-consciousness, untainted by the sordid social ambitions which make so many of the wealthy abhorrent.  There is no pretence about them, nothing of that uncertainty of self mingled with vanity which grows into arrogance or servility as the social weather-vane veers with the breeze of fashion.  Rather flowery that, for an old-fashioned spinster.

   “But, dear, there are other flowers than those of speech eloquent
   in the soft Southern air—­flowers everywhere outside my open
   window where I sit writing you.

   “I miss Virginia, but Shiela compensates when she can find time
   from her breathless pleasure chase to give me an hour or two at
   tea-time.

“And Cecile, too, is very charming, and I know she likes me.  Such a coquette!  She has her own court among the younger set; and from her very severe treatment of young Gatewood on all occasions I fancy she may be kinder to him one day.

   “Mrs. Carrick is not here this winter, her new baby keeping her
   in town; and Acton, of course, is only too happy to remain with
   her.

“As for Gray, he is a nice boy—­a little slow, a trifle shy and retiring and over-studious; but his devotion to Shiela makes me love him.  And he, too, ventured to ask me whether you were not coming down this winter to hunt along the Everglades with him and Little Tiger.

   “So, dear, I think perhaps you had better come.  It really
   frightens me to give you this advice.  I could not endure it if
   anything went wrong—­if your coming proved premature.

“For it is true, Garry, that I love our little Shiela with all my aged, priggish, and prejudiced heart, and I should simply expire if your happiness, which is bound up in her, were threatened by any meddling of mine.

“Jim Wayward and I discuss the matter every day; I don’t know what he thinks—­he’s so obstinate some days—­and sometimes he is irritable when Gussie Vetchen and Cuyp talk too inanely—­bless their hearts!  I really don’t know what I shall do with James Wayward.  What would you suggest?”

On the heels of this letter went another.