Now I'll leave you here in the garden.

Come to luncheon at one, and you shall meet my other guests." Harry sat down on a little wooden bench beneath a magnolia.

Here in the garden the odor of grass and foliage was keen, and thrillingly sweet.
This was the South, the real South, and its warm passions leaped up in his blood.

Much of the talk that he had been hearing recently from those older than he passed through his mind.

The Southern states did have a right to go if they chose, and they were being attacked because their prominence aroused jealousy.