On the next Sunday he was early at church.

But he had perhaps accented the occasion by driving there in a light buggy behind a fast thoroughbred, possibly selected more to the taste of a smart cavalry officer than an agricultural superintendent.

He was already in a side pew, his eyes dreamily fixed on the prayer-book ledge before him, when there was a rustle at the church door, and a thrill of curiosity and admiration passed over the expectant congregation.

It was the entrance of the Dows party, Miss Sally well to the fore.

She was in her new clothes, the latest fashion in Louisville, the latest but two in Paris and New York.
It was over twenty years ago.