It's mighty prone to make mistakes.

The man's just a sinner like the rest of us." At Fontenoy, that September afternoon, Fairfax Cary, riding over from Greenwood, found Miss Dandridge seated upon the steps which ran down to the garden from the glass doors of the library.

Her chin was in her hands, and her black eyes were suspiciously bright.

"You were crying," exclaimed the younger Cary.

"Why ?" "I've been reading about the Capulets and the Montagues." "You are not one to cry for the dead," said the young man.