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diff --git a/old/67659-0.txt b/old/67659-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ec29f96..0000000 --- a/old/67659-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6347 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Strange, Sad Comedy, by Molly Elliot -Seawell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Strange, Sad Comedy - -Author: Molly Elliot Seawell - -Release Date: March 19, 2022 [eBook #67659] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRANGE, SAD COMEDY *** - - - - - -A STRANGE, SAD COMEDY - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - A STRANGE, SAD COMEDY - - BY - - MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL - - AUTHOR OF “THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC,” “CHILDREN OF - DESTINY,” “MAID MARIAN AND OTHER STORIES” - “LITTLE JARVIS,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1896 - - - - - Copyright, 1892, by - GODEY PUBLISHING CO. - - Copyright, 1896, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - _All rights reserved_ - - - THE DE VINNE PRESS. - - - - -A STRANGE, SAD COMEDY - - - - -A STRANGE, SAD COMEDY - - - - -I - - -One sunny November day, in 1864, Colonel Archibald Corbin sat placidly -reading “The Spectator” in the shabby old library at Corbin Hall, in -Virginia. The Colonel had a fine, pale old face, clean shaven, except -for a bristly, white mustache, and his white hair, which was rather -long, was combed back in the fashion of the days when Bulwer’s heroes -set the style for hair-dressing. The Colonel--who was no more a colonel -than he was a cheese-box--had an invincible placidity, which could not -be disturbed by wars or rumors of wars. He had come into the world in a -calm and judicial frame of mind, and meant to go through it and out of -it calmly and judicially, in spite of rude shocks and upheavals. - -Everything about Colonel Corbin had reached the stage of genteel -shabbiness--a shabbiness which is the exclusive mark of gentlemen. His -dignified frock-coat was white about the seams with much brushing, and -the tall, old-fashioned “stock” which supported his chin was neatly -but obviously mended. The furniture in the room was as archaic as the -Colonel’s coat and stock. A square of rag carpet covered the floor; -there had been a Brussels carpet once, but that had long since gone to -the hospital at Richmond--and the knob of the Colonel’s gold-headed -cane had gone into the collection-plate at church some months before. -For, as the Colonel said, with a sort of grandiose modesty--“I can give -but little, sir, in these disjointed times. But when I do give, I give -like a gentleman, sir.” - -There had been a time, not long before that, when he had been compelled -to “realize,” as the Virginians euphemistically express it, upon -something that could be converted into cash. This was when it became -necessary to bring the body of his only son, who had been killed -early in the war, back to Corbin Hall--and likewise to bring the dead -man’s twelve-year-old daughter from the far South, where her mother -had quickly followed her father across the gulf. Even in that sad -extremity, the Colonel had never dreamed of “realizing” on the great -piles of silver plate, which would, in those times, have commanded -instant sale. The Corbins, who were perfectly satisfied to have their -dining-room furnished with some scanty horsehair sofas and a few -rickety chairs and tables, had a fancy for loading down rude cupboards -with enough plate for a great establishment, according to a provincial -fashion in Virginia. But instead of this, the Colonel sacrificed a -fine threshing-machine and some of his best stock without a qualm. The -Colonel had borne all this, and much more,--and the rare, salt tears -had worn little furrows in his cheeks,--but he was still calm, still -composed, under all circumstances. - -The sun had just marked twelve o’clock on the old sun-dial in the -garden, when the Colonel, happening to glance up, saw Aunt Tulip, -the dairymaid, streaking past the window, with her petticoat over -her head, followed by Nancy, the scullion, by little Patsy Jane, who -picked up chips for the kitchen fire, by Tom Battercake, whose mission -in life was indicated by his name,--the bringing in of battercakes -being an important part of life in Virginia,--and by Juba, who was -just beginning his apprenticeship by carrying relays of the eternal -battercakes from the kitchen to the dining-room. And the next moment, -Miss Jemima, the Colonel’s sister and double, actually danced into the -room with her gray curls flying, and gasped, “Brother, the Yankees are -coming!” - -“Are they, my dear Jemima?” remarked the Colonel, rising. “Then we must -prepare to meet them with all the dignity and composure possible.” As -the Colonel opened the door, his own man, Dad Davy, nearly ran over -him, blurting out the startling news, “Marse, de Yankees is comin’!” -and the same information was screeched at him by every negro, big and -little, on the plantation who had known it in time to make a bee-line -for the house. - -“Disperse to your usual occupations,” cried the Colonel, waving his -hand majestically. The negroes dispersed, not to their business, but -with the African’s natural love of a sensation to spread the alarm all -over the place. By the time it got to the “quarters,”--the houses of -the field-hands, farthest away from “de gret house,”--it was reported -that Dad Davy had told Tom Battercake that he saw Aunt Tulip “runnin’ -outen de gret house, and the Yankees wuz hol’in er pistol at ole Marse’ -hade, and Miss Jemima, she wuz havin’ er fit with nobody but little -Patsy Jane,” etc., etc., etc. What really happened was, the Colonel -walked calmly out in the hall, urging Miss Jemima to be composed. - -“My dear Jemima, do not become agitated. David, you are an old fool. -Thomas Battercake, proceed to your usual employment at this time of -day, cleaning the knives, or whatever it is. Would you have these -Yankee miscreants to think us a body of Bedlamites?” - -Just then, down the stairs came running pretty little twelve-year-old -Letty, his granddaughter. Letty seized his veined and nervous hand in -her two pink palms, and expressed a willingness to die on the spot for -him. - -The Colonel marched solemnly out on the porch, and by that time, what -seemed to him an army of blue-coats was dashing across the lawn. A -lieutenant swung himself off his horse, and, coming up the steps, -demanded the keys of the barn, in a brogue that could be cut with a -knife. - -“No, sir,” said the Colonel, firmly, his gray hair moved slightly by -the autumn wind, “you may break open my barn-door, but I decline to -surrender the keys.” - -The lieutenant, at that, struck a match against the steps, and a -little point of flame was seen among the withered tendrils of the -Virginia creeper that clung to the wooden pillars of the porch. - -“Now, will you give up those keys, you obstinate ould ribil?” asked the -lieutenant, fiercely. - -“No!” responded the Colonel, quite unmoved. “The term that you apply to -me is the one that was borne with honor by the Father of his country. -Moreover, from your accent, which I may be permitted to observe, sir, -is grotesque to the last degree, I surmise that you yourself may be a -rebel to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, for certainly there is nothing -American about you.” - -At this, a general snicker went around among the enemy, for discipline -was not very well observed between officers and men in those days. -Then, half a dozen cavalrymen dropped off their horses and made for the -well, whence they returned in a twinkling with water to put out the -fire that had begun to crackle ominously. The Colonel had not turned a -hair, although Miss Jemima behind him and Letty had clung together with -a faint cry. - -The lieutenant rode off in the direction of the barn, ordering most of -the men to follow him. Wagons were then seen coming down the lane, and -going toward the barn to cart off the Colonel’s corn and wheat. The -sympathies of those who were left behind were plainly with the Colonel. -Especially was this so with a tall, lanky, grizzled sergeant, who had -been the first man to put out the fire. - -“I am much obliged to you, my good man,” said Colonel Corbin, loftily, -“for your efforts in extinguishing the flames started by that person, -who appears to be in command.” - -“You’re welcome,” answered the lanky sergeant, with the easy -familiarity of the rural New-Englander. - -The lieutenant had showed unmistakably the bullying resentment of a -peasant brought face to face with a gentleman, but the lanky sergeant -indirectly felt some subtile sympathy with a spirit as independent as -his own. - -“I am glad, brother,” said Miss Jemima, “that these men who are left -to guard us are plainly Americans. They will be more humane than -foreigners.” - -“Vastly more so,” answered the Colonel, calmly watching the loading of -his crops upon the wagons in the distance. “There is, particularly in -New England, a sturdy yeomanry, such as our friend here belongs to,” -indicating the sergeant, “which really represents an admirable type of -man.” - -“Gosh,” exclaimed the sergeant, in admiration, “it’s the durndest, -gamest thing I ever see, you standin’ up here as cool as a cucumber, -when your property’s bein’ took. I kin stand fire; my grandfather, he -fought at Lexington, and he didn’t flunk nuther, and I ain’t flunked -much. But I swan, if you Johnny Rebs was a-cartin’ off my hay and -stuff, I’d be a deal more excited ’n you are. And my old woman--gosh t’ -almighty!” - -The lanky sergeant seemed completely staggered by the contemplation of -the old woman’s probable behavior upon such an occasion. - -“There are other things, my friend,” answered the Colonel, putting his -hands under his coat-tails and turning his back upon the barn in the -distance, “which are of more consequence, I opine, than hay and corn. -That, I think, the most limited intelligence will admit.” - -“That’s so,” responded the lanky sergeant, “I kin do a sight better -keepin’ bees up in Vermont than down here in Virginny fightin’ the -rebs for eighteen dollars a month, but when Uncle Abe called for -seventy-five thousand men I couldn’t a-kep’ them bees another day, -not if I had been makin’ two hundred dollars a month at it. When I -heard ’bout it, I kem in, and I said to the old woman: ‘I’ve got a -call,’ and she screeched out, ‘A call to git converted, Silas?’--the -old woman’s powerful religious,--and I says, ‘No, Sary--a call to go -and fight for the Flag.’ And when we talked it over, and remembered -about my grandfather,--he lived to be selectman,--the old woman says, -‘Silas, you are a miser’bul man, and you’ll git killed in your sins, -and no insurance on your life, and it’ll take all I kin rake and scrape -to bring your body home, but mebbe it’s your duty to fight for your -country.’ And she said I might come, and here I am, and the bees is -goin’ to thunder.” - -“Unfortunately for me, sir,” said the Colonel, with a faint smile, but -with unabated politeness. “However, I wish to say that you are pursuing -your humble but unpleasant duty in a most gentlemanlike manner. For, -look you, the term gentleman is comprehensive. It includes not only -a man who has had the advantages of birth and station,--advantages -which I may, with all modesty, claim, as enjoying them without any -merit of my own,--but a man like yourself, of honorable, though humble -parentage, who possesses a sturdy independence of spirit to which, I -may say, my friend with the violent brogue is a stranger.” - -The lanky sergeant, who had a dry, Puritanical humor of his own, was -immensely tickled at this, and, at the same time, profoundly respectful -of a man who could enter into disquisitions respecting what constituted -a gentleman while his goods were being confiscated under his very nose. - -“I tell you what,” said he, becoming quite friendly and confidential -with the Colonel, “there’s a fellow with our command,--an -Englishman,--and he’s got the same name as yours--Corbin--only he’s got -a handle to it. He is Sir Archibald Corbin, and I never see a young man -so like an old one as he is like you. He just seems to me to be your -very image. He ain’t reg’larly attached nor nothin’; he’s just one of -them aide’campers. He might be your son. Hain’t you got any son?” - -At this, little Miss Letty, who had kept in the background clinging to -Miss Jemima, came forward, and the Colonel put one arm around her. - -“I had a son,--a noble son,--but he laid down his life in defense of -his State, and this is his orphan child,” said he. - -The lanky sergeant took off his cap and made a bow. - -“And I’ll be bound,” he said, with infinite respect in his awkwardly -familiar manner, “that your son was true grit.” He stopped and hunted -about in his mind for a title to bestow upon the Colonel superior -to the one he had, and finally hit upon “Judge,” to which title the -Colonel was as much entitled as the one he bore. - -“Judge, I don’t believe you’d turn a hair if there was a hundred pieces -of artillery trained on you. I believe you’d just go on talkin’ in -this ’ere highflown way, without kerin’ about anything except your -dignity. And if your son was like you, he didn’t have no skeer in him -at all, General.” By this time the sergeant had concluded that the old -gentleman deserved promotion even from the title of Judge. - -The Colonel inclined his head, a slight flush creeping into his wan -face. - -“You do me honor,” he said, “but you do my son only justice.” - -By this time the wagons had been loaded up and were being driven off. -The scared negroes that had flocked about the house from all over the -plantation were peering, with ashy faces, around the corners and over -the garden fence. The men were ordered to fall in, the lieutenant -giving his orders at a considerable distance, and in his involuntary -and marked brogue. The lanky sergeant and the few men with him mounted, -and then all of them, simultaneously, took off their caps. - -“Three cheers for the old game-cock!” cried the lanky sergeant -enthusiastically. The cheers were given with a will and with a grin. -The Colonel bowed profoundly, smiling all the time. - -“This is truly grotesque,” he said. “You have just appropriated all -of my last year’s crops, and now you are assuring me of your personal -respect. For the last, I thank you,” and so, with cheering and -laughter, they rode off, leaving the Colonel with his self-respect -unimpaired, but minus several hundred bushels of corn and wheat. The -negroes gradually quieted down, and the Colonel and Miss Jemima and -little Miss Letty retired to the library. The Colonel took down his -family tree, and began gravely to study that perennially entertaining -document in order to place the Corbin who was serving as aide-de-camp -in the Union army. Miss Jemima, too, was deeply interested, and -remarked sagely: - -“He is no doubt a great-grandson of Admiral Sir Archibald Corbin, who -adhered to the royal cause and was afterward made a baronet by George -III.” - -At that very moment, the Colonel hit upon him. - -“That is he, my dear Jemima. General Sir George Corbin, grandson of -the admiral and son of Sir Archibald Corbin, second, married to the -Honorable Evelyn Guilford-Hope, has one son and heir, Archibald, born -May 18, 1842. His father must be dead, and he has but little more -than reached his majority. Sister, if he were not in the Federal -army, I should be most happy to greet him as a kinsman. But I own to -an adamantine prejudice toward strangers who dare to meddle in civil -broils.” - -So had Miss Jemima, of course, who regarded the Colonel’s prejudices as -direct inspirations from on high. - -The very next week after the visitation of the Federal cavalry came -a descent upon the part of a squad of Confederate troopers. As the -Colonel and Miss Jemima entertained the commanding officers in the -library, with the most elaborate courtesy and home-made wine, the -shrill quacking and squawking of the ducks and chickens was painfully -audible as the hungry troopers chased and captured them. The Colonel -and Miss Jemima, though, were perfectly deaf to the clamor made by the -poultry as their necks were wrung, and when a cavalryman rode past the -window with one of Miss Jemima’s pet bronze turkeys hanging from his -saddle-bow and gobbling wildly, Miss Jemima only gave a faint sigh, -and looked very hard at little Miss Letty, who was about to shriek a -protest against such cruelty. Even next morning she made not a single -inquiry as to the startling deficit in the poultry yard. And when Aunt -Tulip began to grumble something about “dem po’ white trash dat cum ter -a gent’mun’ house, an’ cornfuscate he tu’keys settin’ on the nes’,” -Miss Jemima shut her up promptly. - -“Not a word, not a word, Tulip. Confederate officers are welcome to -anything at Corbin Hall.” - -A few nights after that, the Colonel sat in the library looking at -the hickory fire that danced up the chimney and shone on the polished -floor, and turned little Letty’s yellow hair into burnished gold. -Suddenly a terrific knocking resounded at the door. - -In those strange times people’s hearts sometimes stood still when there -was a clamor for entrance; but the Colonel’s brave old heart went on -beating placidly. Not so Dad Davy’s, who, with a negro’s propensity to -get up an excitement about everything, exclaimed solemnly: - -“D’yar dee come to bu’n de house over we all’s hades. I done dream lars -night ’bout a ole h’yar cotch hade fo’mos’ in er trap, an’ dat’s a sho’ -sign o’ trouble and distrus’fulness.” - -“David,” remarked the Colonel, according to custom, “you are a fool. Go -and open the hall door.” - -Dad Davy hobbled toward the door and opened it. It was about dusk -on an autumn night, and there was a weird half-light upon the weedy -lawn, and the clumps of gnarled acacias, and the overgrown carriage -drive of pounded oyster-shells. Nor was there any light in the large, -low-pitched hall, with its hard mahogany sofa, and the walls ornamented -with riding-whips and old spurs. A tall and stalwart figure stood -before the door, and a voice out of the darkness asked: - -“Is this the house of Mr. Archibald Corbin, and is he at home?” - -The sound of that voice seemed to paralyze Dad Davy. - -“Lord A’mighty,” he gasped, “’tis Marse Archy’s voice. Look a heah, is -you--is you a _ha’nt?_”[1] - -“A what?” - -But without waiting for an answer Dad Davy scurried off for a moment -and returned with a tallow candle in a tall silver candlestick. As -he appeared, shading the candle with one dusky hand, and rolling two -great eyeballs at the newcomer, he was handed a visiting card. This -further mystified him, as he had never seen such an implement in his -life before; he gazed with a fixed and frightened gaze at the young -man before him, and his skin gradually turned the ashy hue that terror -produces in a negro. - -“Hi, hi,” he spluttered, “you is de spit and image o’ my young Marse, -that was kilt long o’ dis lars’ year. And you got he voice. I kin mos’ -swar you wuz Marse Archy Corbin, like he wuz fo’ he got married.” - -“And my name is Archibald Corbin, too,” said the young man, -comprehending the strange resemblance between himself and the dead -and gone Archy that had so startled the old negro. He poked his card -vigorously into Dad Davy’s hand. - -“What I gwine to do with this heah?” asked Dad Davy, eying the card -suspiciously. - -“Take this card to your master.” - -“And if he ax me who k’yard ’tis, what I gwi’ tell him?” - -At this the young man burst out into a ringing, full-chested laugh. The -negroes were new to him, and ever amusing, and he could not but laugh -at Dad Davy’s simplicity. That laugh brought the Colonel out into the -hall. He advanced with a low bow, which the stranger returned, and took -the card out of Dad Davy’s hand, meanwhile settling his spectacles -carefully on his nose, and reading deliberately: - -“Sir Archibald Corbin, Fox Court.” - -The Colonel fixed his eyes upon his guest, and, like Dad Davy, the -resemblance to the other Archibald Corbin overcame him instantly. His -lips trembled slightly, and it was a moment or two before he could say, -with his usual blandness: - -“I see you are Archibald Corbin, and I am your kinsman, also Archibald -Corbin.” - -“Being in your neighborhood,” said Sir Archibald, courteously, “I could -not forbear doing myself the pleasure of making myself known to the -only relatives I have on this side of the water.” - -There was something winning and graceful about him, and the Colonel was -much surprised to find that any man born and bred outside of the State -of Virginia should have so fine an address. - -“It gives me much gratification,” replied Colonel Corbin, in his most -imposing barytone, “to acknowledge the relationship existing between -the Corbins of Corbin Hall in Virginia and those of Fox Court in -England.” - -In saying this he led the way toward the library, where two more tallow -dips in silver candlesticks had been lighted. - -When young Corbin came within the circle of the fire’s red light--for -the tallow dips did not count--Miss Jemima uttered a faint scream. -This strange sensation that his appearance made in every member -of the family rather vexed the young Englishman, who was a robust -specimen, and with nothing uncanny about him, except the strange and -uncomfortable likeness to a dead man whom he had never seen or heard of -until that moment. - -“Pardon me,” said the Colonel, after a moment, in a choked voice, -“but your resemblance to my only son, who was killed while gallantly -leading his regiment, is something extraordinary, and you will perhaps -understand a father’s agitation”--here two scanty tears rolled down -upon his white mustache. Even little Miss Letty looked at the newcomer -with troubled eyes and quivering lips. - -Young Corbin, with a hearty and healthy desire to get upon more -comfortable subjects of discourse, mentioned that, having a taste for -adventure, he had come to America during the terrible upheaval, and -through the influence of friends in power he had obtained a temporary -staff appointment, by which he was able to see something of actual -warfare. - -This statement was heard in absolute silence. Young Corbin received a -subtile impression that his new-found relatives rather disapproved -of him, and that the fact that he was a baronet with a big rent-roll, -which had hitherto brought him the highest consideration, ranked as -nothing with these primitive people. Naturally, this was a stab to -the self-love of a young fellow of twenty-two, but with the innate -independence of a man born to position and possessions, he refrained -from forcing his consequence upon his relatives. The Colonel talked -learnedly and eloquently upon the subject of the Corbins and their -pedigree, to which Miss Jemima listened complacently. Little Miss -Letty, though, seemed to regard the guest as a base intruder, and -glowered viciously upon him, while she knitted a large woolen sock. - -Supper was presently announced by Dad Davy. There might be a rag carpet -on the floor at Corbin Hall, and tallow dips, but there was sure to -be enough on the table to feed a regiment. This supper was the most -satisfactory thing that young Sir Archy had seen yet among his Virginia -relations. There was an “old ham” cured in the smoke from hickory -ashes, and deviled turkey after Miss Jemima’s own recipe, and it took -Tom Battercake, Black Juba, and little Patsy Jane, all together, to -bring in supplies of battercakes, to which the invariable formula was: -“Take two, and butter them while they are hot.” - -The Colonel kept up a steady fusillade, reinforced by Miss Jemima, of -all the family history, peculiarities, and what not, of the Corbin -family. The Corbins were, to a man, the best judges of wines in the -State of Virginia; they inherited great capacity for whist; and were -remarkable for putting a just estimate upon people, and inflexible in -maintaining their opinions. “Of which,” said the Colonel, suavely, “I -will give you an example: - -“My honored father always believed that it was the guest’s duty, when -spending the night at a house, to make the motion toward retiring -for the night. My uncle, John Whiting Corbin, held the contrary. As -both knew the other’s inflexibility they avoided ever spending the -night at each other’s houses, although upon the most affectionate and -brotherly terms. Upon one occasion, however, my uncle was caught at -Corbin Hall by stress of weather. The evening passed pleasantly, but -toward midnight the rest of the family, including my sister Jemima and -myself, retired, leaving my father and his brother amicably discussing -the Virginia resolutions of ’98. As the night wore on both wished to -retire, but my father would not transgress the code of etiquette he -professed, by suggesting bedtime to his guest, nor would my uncle yield -the point by making the first move. - -“When, at daylight the next morning, my boy Davy came in to make the -fire, here, sir, in this library, I assure you, my father and his -brother were still discussing the resolutions of ’98. They had been at -it all night.” - -This was one of the Colonel’s crack stories, and Sir Archy laughed -at it heartily enough. But with all this studied hospitality toward -himself, he felt more, every moment, in spite of the Colonel’s sounding -periods, that he was merely tolerated at best, and as he had never -been snubbed before in his life, the experience did not please him. At -ten o’clock he rose to go, saying that he preferred traveling by night -under the circumstances. The Colonel invited him to remain longer, with -careful politeness, but when the invitation was declined, no more was -visible than civil regret. Nevertheless, the Colonel went himself to -see that Sir Archy’s horse had been properly fed and rubbed down, and -Miss Jemima went to fetch a glass of the home-made wine, which nearly -choked Sir Archy in the effort to gulp it down. He was alone for a few -moments with pretty little Letty, who had not for a moment abandoned -her standoffish attitude. - -“Will you be glad to see me the next time I come, little cousin?” he -asked, mischievously. - -Here was a chance for Letty to annihilate this brazen newcomer, and -she proceeded to do it by quoting one of the Colonel’s most elaborate -phrases. She got slightly mixed on the word “adamantine,” but still -Letty thought it sounded very well when she remarked, loftily, “I -have an anti-mundane prejudice toward foreigners meddling in domestic -broils.” And every word was punctuated by a scowl. - -Miss Letty fondly imagined that the young Englishman would be awed and -delighted at this prodigious remark in one so young, but when Sir Archy -burst into one of his rich and ringing laughs, Letty promptly realized -that he was laughing at her, and could have pulled his hair with -pleasure. - -Sir Archy was still laughing and Letty was still blushing and scowling -when their elders returned. In a little while Sir Archy was galloping -down the sandy lane at Corbin Hall, with the faint lights of the -grim old house twinkling far behind him. It was an odd experience, -and not altogether pleasing. For once, he had met people who knew he -was a baronet, and who did not care for it, and who knew he had a -great property, and who did not feel the slightest respect for it. -There was something sad, something ludicrous, and something noble and -disinterested about those refined, unsophisticated people at Corbin -Hall; and when that little sulky, frowning thing grew up, she would -be a beauty, Sir Archy decided, as he galloped along the sandy road -through the moonlight night. - - - - -II - - -Ten summers after this, the old Colonel and Miss Jemima and Miss Letty -scraped up money enough to spend a summer in a cheap boarding-house at -Newport. Many surprises awaited the Colonel upon his first visit to -Newport since “before the war, sir.” In the first place, the money they -paid for their plain rooms seemed a very imposing sum to them, and they -were extremely surprised to find how small it was regarded at Newport. - -“Newport, my dear Jemima and Letty, is a more expensive place than -the White Sulphur in its palmiest days, when it had a monopoly of the -chivalry of the South,” announced the Colonel, oracularly. - -Letty had innocently expected a great triumph, especially with her -wardrobe. She had no less than five white Swiss muslin frocks, all -tucked and beruffled within an inch of her life, and she had also a -lace parasol, besides one that had belonged to her mother, and several -lace flounces and a set of pearls. This outfit, thought Letty, vain -and proud, was bound to make a sensation. But it did not. However, no -matter what Letty wore, she was in no danger of being put behind the -door. First, because she was so very, very pretty, and second, because -she was so obviously a thoroughbred, from the sole of her little arched -foot, up to the crown of her delicate, proud head. And Letty was so -extremely haughty. But she soon found out that Swiss muslin frocks -don’t count at Newport, and that even a Corbin of Corbin Hall, who -lodged in a cheap place, was not an object of flattering attention. - -And the more neglected she was, the more toploftical she became. So did -the Colonel, and so did Miss Jemima. Walking down Bellevue avenue with -the Colonel, Letty would criticize severely the stately carriages, the -high-stepping horses and the superbly dressed women and natty men that -are characteristic of that swell drive. But when a carriage would pass -with a crest on its doors, the Colonel’s white teeth showed beneath his -mustache in a grim smile. - -“One of the Popes,” he remarked, with suave sarcasm, “who started in -life as a cobbler, took for his papal arms a set of cobblers’ tools. -But I perceive no indication whatever, in this community of retired -tradespeople, that they have not all inherited their wealth since the -days of the Saxon Heptarchy.” - -For a time it seemed as if not one single person at Newport had ever -heard of Colonel Archibald Corbin, of Corbin Hall. But one afternoon, -as Letty and her grandfather were taking a dignified promenade,--they -could not afford to drive at Newport,--they noticed a stylish dog-cart -approaching, with a hale, manly fellow, neither particularly young nor -especially handsome, handling the ribbons. Just as he caught sight of -the Colonel he pulled up, and in another moment he had thrown the reins -to the statuesque person who sat on the back seat, and was advancing -toward the old man, hat in hand. - -“This must be Colonel Corbin. I can’t be mistaken,” he cried, in a -cordial, rich voice. - -Letty took in at a glance how well set up he was, how fresh and -wholesome and manly. - -“It _is_ Colonel Corbin,” replied the Colonel, with stately affability. - -“But you don’t remember me, I see. Perhaps you recall my father, John -Farebrother--wines and liquors. We’re not in the business now,” he -said, smiling, turning to Letty with a sort of natural gracefulness, -“but, contrary to custom, we haven’t forgotten it.” - -The Colonel seized Farebrother’s hand and sawed it up and down -vigorously. - -“Certainly, certainly,” he said. “Your father supplied the cellars -of Corbin Hall for forty years, and the acquaintanceship begun in a -business way was continued with very great pleasure on my part, and I -frequently enjoyed a noble hospitality at your father’s villa here, in -the good old days before the war.” - -“And I hope you will extend the same friendship to my father’s son,” -said Farebrother, still holding his hat in his hand, and looking very -hard at Letty, as if to say, “Present me.” - -“My granddaughter, Miss Corbin,” explained the Colonel, and Letty put -her slim little hand, country fashion, when she was introduced, into -the strong, sunburned one that Farebrother held out to her. Farebrother -nodded to the statuesque person in the dog-cart, and his nod seemed -to convey a whole code of meaning. The dog-cart trundled off down the -road, and Farebrother walked along by Letty’s side, the Colonel on the -other. Letty examined this new acquaintance critically, under her dark -lashes, anxiously endeavoring to belittle him in her own mind. But -having excellent natural sense, in about two minutes and a half she -recognized that this man, who mentioned so promptly that his father -dealt in wines and liquors, was a gentleman of the very first water. In -fact, there is no discounting a gentleman. - -Almost every carriage that passed caused Farebrother to raise his hat, -and Letty took in, with feminine astuteness, that he was a man of -large and fashionable acquaintance. He walked the whole way back to -their dingy lodgings with them, and then went in and sat in the musty -drawing-room for half an hour. What had Miss Corbin seen at Newport? -he asked. Miss Corbin had seen nothing, as she acknowledged with a -faint resentment in her voice. This Mr. Farebrother pronounced a shame, -a scandal, and a disgrace. She must immediately see everything. His -sisters would call immediately; he would see to that. His mother never -went out. He hoped to see Miss Corbin at a breakfast or something or -other his sisters were planning. They had got hold of an Englishman -with a handle to his name, and although the girls pretended that -the Britisher was only an incident at the breakfast, that was all -a subterfuge. But Miss Corbin should judge for herself, and then, -after thanking the Colonel warmly for his invitation to call again, -Farebrother took his leave. - -The very next afternoon, an immaculate victoria drove up to the -Corbins’ door, and two immaculately stylish girls got out. Miss Jemima -and the Colonel were not at home, so Letty received the visitors -alone in the grim lodging-house parlor. They got on famously, much of -the sweetness and true breeding of the brother being evident in the -sisters. They were very English in their voices and pronunciation and -use of phrases, but in some way it did not sound affected, and they -were genuinely kind and girlishly cordial. And it was plain that “our -brother” was regarded with extreme veneration. Would Miss Corbin come -to a breakfast they were giving next Saturday? Miss Corbin accepted so -delightedly, that the Farebrother girls, who were not accustomed to -Southern enthusiasm over trifles, were a little startled. - -Scarcely had the young ladies driven off when up came Mr. Farebrother. -Letty, at this, their second meeting, received him as if he had been a -long-lost brother. He, however, who knew something about the genus to -which Letty belonged, grinned with keen appreciation of her rapturous -greeting, and was not the least overpowered by it. He hung on in the -most unfashionable manner until the Colonel arrived, who was highly -pleased to meet his young friend, as he called Farebrother, who had -a distinct bald spot on the top of his head, and the ruddy flush -of six-and-thirty in his face. Farebrother desired the Colonel’s -permission to put him up at the Club, and offered him various other -civilities, all of which the Colonel received with an inconceivably -funny air of conferring a favor instead of accepting one. - -Newport assumed an altogether different air to the Corbins after the -Farebrother raid. But Letty’s anticipations of the breakfast were -dashed with a little secret anxiety of which she was heartily ashamed. -What should she wear? She had never been to a fashionable breakfast -before in her life. She hesitated between her one elaborate gown, and -one of her fresh muslins, but with intuitive taste she reflected that a -white frock was always safe, and so concluded to wear one, in which she -looked like a tall white lily. - -The day of the breakfast arrived; the noon-day sun shone with a -tempered radiance upon the velvety turf, the great clumps of blue and -pink hydrangeas, and the flower borders of rich and varied color, on -the shaven lawns. It was a delicious August forenoon, and the warm and -scented air had a clear and charming freshness. The shaded piazzas of -the Farebrother cottage, with masses of greenery banked about them, -made a beautiful background for the dainty girls and well-groomed men -who alighted from the perfect equipages that rolled up every minute. -Presently a “hack” in the last stage of decrepitude passed through -the open and ivy-grown gateway, and as it drew up upon the graveled -circle, Letty Corbin, in her white dress and a large white hat, rose -from the seat. Farebrother was at her side in an instant, helping her -to descend. Usually, Letty’s face was of a clear and creamy paleness, -but now it was flushed with a wild-rose blush. It had suddenly dawned -upon her that the ramshackly rig, which was quite as good as anything -she was accustomed to in Virginia, did not look very well amid the -smart carriages that came before and after her. However, it in no wise -destroyed her self-possession, as it would have done that of some -of the girls who descended from the smart carriages. And there was -Farebrother with his kind voice and smile, waiting to meet her at the -steps, and pouring barefaced compliments in her ear, which last Miss -Letty relished highly. - -The two girls received her cordially, and introduced her to one or -two persons. But they could not devote their whole time to her, and -in a little while Letty drifted into the cool, shaded, luxurious -drawing-room, and found that she was left very much to herself. The -men and girls around her chatted glibly among themselves, but they -seemed oblivious of the fact that there was a stranger present, to whom -attention would have been grateful. Two very elegant looking girls -talked directly across her, and were presently joined by a man who -quite ignored her even by a glance, and although she sat between him -and the girls, he kept his eyes fixed on them. Letty thought it was -very bad manners. - -“At Corbin Hall,” she thought bitterly, “a stranger would have been -overwhelmed with kind attentions”; but apparently at Newport a stranger -had no rights that a cottager was bound to respect. - -“The fact is, Miss Cornwell,” said the man, in the studied, low voice -of the “smart set,” “I’ve been nearly run off my legs this week by Sir -Archy Corbin. He’s the greatest fellow for doing things I ever saw in -my life. And he positively gives a man no rest at all. We’ve always -been good friends, but I shall have to ‘cut him’ if this thing keeps -up.” - -The lie in this statement was not in the least obvious to Letty, -but was perfectly so to the young women, who knew there was not the -remotest chance of Sir Archy Corbin being cut by any of their set. The -name, though, at once struck Letty, and her mobile face showed that she -was interested in the subject. - -“Will he be at the meet on Thursday, Mr. Woodruff?” asked the girl, -suddenly dropping her waving fan and indolent manner, and showing great -animation. At this, Woodruff answered with a slightly embarrassed -smile: - -“Well--er--no, I hardly think so. You know, in England, this isn’t the -hunting season--” - -“Oh, no,” struck in Miss Cornwell, perfectly at home in English -customs, “their hunting season is just in time to break up the New York -season.” - -Letty’s face, which was very expressive, had unconsciously assumed -a look of shocked surprise. Hunting a fox in August! For Letty knew -nothing of the pursuit of the fierce and cunning aniseseed bag. Her -lips almost framed the words, “How dreadful!” - -Woodruff, without glancing at her, but taking in swiftly the speaking -look of disgusted astonishment, framed with his lips something that -sounded like “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.” - -A blush poured hotly into Letty’s face. The rudeness of talking about -her before her face angered her intensely, but did not for a moment -disconcert her. There was a little pause. Miss Cornwell looked straight -before her with an air of amused apprehension. Then Letty spoke in a -clear, soft voice: - -“You are mistaken,” she said, looking Woodruff calmly in the face. -“I do not belong to that society. I do not altogether believe in -professional philanthropy. I was, it is true, shocked at the idea of -fox-hunting in August, because, although I have been accustomed to -seeing hunting in a sportsmanlike manner all my life, the fox was given -a chance for his life.” - -It was now Woodruff’s turn to blush, which he did furiously. He was -not really a rude man, but his whole social training had been in the -line of trying to imitate people of another type than himself, and -consequently his perceptions were not acute. The imitative process is a -blunting one. But he did not desire to give anybody pain, and the idea -of a social blunder was simply harrowing to him. - -“Pray excuse me,” he said, and looked a picture of awkward misery, and -Miss Cornwell actually seemed to enjoy his predicament. - -Letty had instantly risen as soon as she had spoken, but by the time -she had taken a step forward there was a little movement in front of -her, and the next moment she saw the same Sir Archibald Corbin she had -seen ten years ago, standing in front of her, holding out his hand and -saying: “May I ask if this is not my cousin, Miss Corbin, of Corbin -Hall? You were a little girl when I saw you last, but I cannot be -mistaken.” - -“Yes, I am Letty Corbin,” answered Letty, giving him her hand, -impulsively; she would have welcomed her deadliest enemy at that -moment, in order to create a diversion. - -But the effect of this meeting and greeting upon Woodruff and Miss -Cornwell, and the people surrounding them, was magnetic. If Letty had -announced, “I am the sole and only representative of the noble house of -Plantagenet,” or Howard, or Montmorenci, their surprise could not have -been greater. - -Sir Archy spoke to them with that cool British civility which is not -altogether pleasing. Woodruff had time to feel a ridiculous chagrin at -the footing which his alleged friend put him on, and Letty was quite -feline enough to let him see it. She fixed two pretty, malicious eyes -on him, and smiled wickedly when instead of making up to Sir Archy, -he very prudently turned toward Miss Cornwell, who likewise seemed -secretly amused. - -But Sir Archy’s manner toward Letty was cordiality itself. He asked -after the Colonel. - -“And such a royal snubbing as I got from him that time so long ago,” he -said, fervently. “I hope he has no intention of repeating it.” - -“I can’t say,” replied Letty, slyly, and examining her cousin with -much approval. He had the delicious, fresh, manly beauty of the -Briton, and he had quite lost that uncanny likeness to a dead man -which had been so remarkable ten years ago. He had, however, the -British simplicity which takes all of an American girl’s subtilities -in perfect candor and good faith. He and Letty got along wonderfully -together. In fact, Letty’s fluency and affability was such that she -could have got on with an ogre. But presently Farebrother came up and -carried her off, under Sir Archy’s very nose, toward the dining-room. -As Letty walked across the beautiful hall into the dining-room beyond, -some new sense of luxury seemed to awaken in her. She was familiar -enough with certain elegancies of life,--at that very moment she -had her great-grandmother’s string of pearls around her milky-white -throat,--and Corbin Hall contained a store of heirlooms for which -the average Newport cottager would have bartered all his modern -bric-à-brac. But this nicety of detail in comfort was perfectly new and -delightful to her, and she confided so much to Farebrother. - -“You see,” she complained, confidentially, “down in Virginia we spend -all we have on the luxuries of life, and then we have to do without the -necessaries.” - -“I see,” answered Farebrother, “but then you’ve been acknowledged as a -cousin by an English baronet. Think of that, and it will sustain you, -and make you patient under your trials more than all the consolation of -religion.” - -“I’ll try to,” answered Letty, demurely. - -“And he is a first-rate fellow, too,” continued Farebrother, who could -be magnanimous. “I made up to him at the club before I knew who he -was--” - -“Oh, nonsense. You knew he was a baronet.” - -“I’ll swear I didn’t. Presently, though, it leaked out that he was -what the newspapers call a titled person. We were talking about some -red wine that a villain of a steward was trying to palm off on us, and -Sir Archy gave his opinion, which was simply rubbish. I told him so -in parliamentary language, and when he wanted to argue the point, I -gently reminded him that my father and my grandfather had been in the -wine-importing line, and I had been born and bred to the wine business.” - -By this time Farebrother’s light-blue expressive eyes were dancing, and -Letty fully took in the joke. - -“The descendants of the dealers in tobacco, drugs, and hardware, who -were sitting around, were naturally much pained at my admission, but -Sir Archy wasn’t, and actually gave in to my opinion. He stuck to me so -close--now, Miss Corbin, I swear I am not lying--that I couldn’t shake -him off, and he walked home with me. Of course I had to ask him in, and -then the girls came out; they couldn’t have been kept away from him -unless they had been tied, and he has pervaded the house more or less -ever since. That is how it is that the noble house of Corbin is to-day -accepting the hospitality of the humble house of Farebrother.” - -“Very kind of us, I’m sure,” said Letty, gravely, “but I’d feel more -important if I had more clothes. You can’t imagine how fine my wardrobe -seemed down in Virginia, and here I feel as if I hadn’t a rag to my -back.” - -“A rag to your back, indeed,” said Farebrother, with bold admiration. -“Those white muslin things you wear are the prettiest gowns I ever saw -at Newport.” - -Letty smiled rapturously. The breakfast was delightful to two persons, -Letty Corbin and Tom Farebrother. After it was over they went out on -the lawn, and watched the long, soft swell of the summer sea breaking -at their feet, and the gay hydrangeas nodding their pretty heads -gravely in the sunshine. And in a moment or two Sir Archy came up and -joined them. Farebrother held his ground stoutly; he always held it -stoutly and pleasantly as well, and the three had such a jolly time -that the correct young ladies who used their broad a’s so carefully, -and the correct young gentlemen in London-made morning clothes, stared -at such evident enjoyment. But it was a respectful stare, and even -Letty’s ramshackly carriage was regarded with toleration when it -rattled up. Sir Archy, however, asked permission to drive her back in -his dog-cart, which Letty at once agreed to, much to Tom Farebrother’s -frankly expressed disgust. - -“There you go,” he growled in her ear. “Just like the rest; the fellow -has a handle to his name and that’s enough.” - -“Why didn’t you offer to drive me home yourself?” answered Letty, with -equally frank coquetry, bending her eyes upon him with a challenge in -their hazel depths. - -“By George, why didn’t I?” was Farebrother’s whispered reply, as he -handed her over to Sir Archy. - -Miss Corbin’s exit was much more imposing than her arrival, as she -drove off, sitting up straight and slim, in Sir Archy’s dog-cart. - -“Do you know,” said he, as they spun along the freshly watered drive in -the soft August afternoon, “that you are the first American I have seen -yet? All of the young ladies that I see here are tolerably fair copies -of the young ladies I meet in London drawing-rooms; but you are really -what I fancied an American girl to be.” - -“Thank you,” answered Letty, dubiously. “But I daresay I am rather -better behaved than you expected to find me.” - -“Not at all,” answered Sir Archy, with energy. - -This was a good beginning for an acquaintance, and when Letty got home -she could not quite decide which she liked the better, Tom Farebrother -or this sturdy, sensible English cousin. - -It is scarcely necessary to say that Letty’s fortune was made as far as -the Newport season went. Her opinions of people and things at Newport -underwent a sudden change when she began to be treated with great -attention. She triumphantly confided to both Farebrother and Sir Archy -that she did not mean to let the Colonel start for Virginia until he -had spent all his money, and she had worn out all her clothes, and -would be obliged to go home to be washed and mended. Meanwhile she -flirted infamously and impartially with both, after a manner indigenous -to the region south of Mason and Dixon’s line. - - - - -III - - -The period so frankly mentioned by Letty, when the party from Corbin -Hall would get to the end of their financial tether, arrived with -surprising promptness. But something still more surprising happened. -The Colonel quite unexpectedly had dumped upon him the vast and -imposing sum of two thousand dollars. This astonishing fact was -communicated to Farebrother one sunny day when he and Letty were -watching a game of tennis at the Casino. - -“Do you know,” said she, turning two sparkling eyes on him from under -her large white hat, and tilting her parasol back gaily, “we are not -going away, after all.” - -“Thank the Lord,” answered Farebrother, with fervent irreverence. - -He had found out that he could talk any amount of sentiment to Letty -with impunity. In fact, she rather demanded excessive sentiment, of -which she nevertheless believed not one word. Farebrother, who had seen -something of Southern girls, very quickly and accurately guessed that -it was the sort of thing Letty had been used to. But he was amused -and charmed to find, that along with the most inveterate and arrant -coquetry, she combined a modesty that amounted to prudery, and a -reserve of manner in certain respects which kept him at an inexorable -distance. He could whisper soft nonsense in Letty’s ear all day long, -and she would listen with an artless enjoyment that was inexpressibly -diverting to Farebrother. But when he once attempted to touch her hand -in putting on her wrap, Letty turned on him with an angry stare that -disconcerted him utterly. It was not the surprise of an ignorant girl, -but the thorough resentment of an offended woman. Farebrother took care -not to transgress in that way again. - -Letty fully expected him to express rapturous delight at her -announcement, and was not disappointed. “It’s very strange,” she -continued, twirling her parasol and leaning forward in her chair; -“grandpapa’s father lent some money a long time ago,--I think the -Corbins got some money by hook or by crook in 1814,--and they lent it -all out, and ever since then they have been borrowing, as far as I can -make out. Well, some of it was on a mortgage that was foreclosed the -other day, so grandpapa says, and he got two thousand dollars.” - -Letty held off to watch the effect of this stunning statement. Two -thousand dollars was a great deal of money to her. Farebrother, arrant -hypocrite that he was, had learned the important lesson of promptly -adopting Letty’s view of everything, and did it so thoroughly that -sometimes he overdid it. - -“Why, that’s a pot of money,” he said gravely. “It’s quite staggering -to contemplate.” - -Letty was not deficient in shrewdness, and she knew by that time that -the standard of values in Virginia and at Newport varied. So she looked -at him very hard, and said, sternly: - -“I hope you are not telling me a story.” - -“Of course not. But really,” here Farebrother became quite serious, “it -depends a good deal on how it comes. Last year, for example, I only -made three thousand dollars. You see I’ve got enough to live upon -without work, and that’s a fearful drawback to people giving me work. -I’m an architect, and I love my trade. But I can’t convince people that -I’m not a _dilettante_. I am ashamed to eat the bread of idleness, and -yet--here’s a question that comes up. Has any man a right, who does not -need to work, to enter into close competition with those who do need -it?” - -Farebrother was very much in earnest by that time. He saw that these -nineteenth-century problems had never presented themselves to Letty’s -simple experience. But they were of vast moment to him. Letty fixed her -large, clear gaze upon him very much as if he were a new sort of animal -she was studying. - -“I thought here, where you are all so rich, you cared for nothing -except how to enjoy yourselves.” - -“Did you? Then you made a huge mistake. Why, I know of men literally -wallowing in money who work for the pure love of work. I could work -for love of work, too, but I tell you, when I see a poor fellow, with -a wife and family to support, slaving over plans and specifications, -and then I feel that my competition is making that man’s chances -considerably less, it takes the heart out of my work. Now, if you’ll -excuse me, I’ll say that I could make three thousand dollars several -times over if I went at it for a living--because like all men who work -from love, not from necessity, I am inclined to believe in my own -capacity and to have a friendly opinion of my own performances. You -may disparage everything about me, and although it may lacerate my -feelings, I will forgive you. But just say one word against me as an -architect, and everything is over between us.” - -“I sha’n’t say anything against you or your architecture either,” -replied Letty, bringing the battery of her eyes and smile to bear on -him with shameless cajolery. - -But just then their attention was attracted by a group approaching them -over the velvet turf. Sir Archibald Corbin was in the lead, escorting -two tall, handsome, blonde young women. They were evidently sisters -and evidently English. They had smooth, abundant light hair, knotted -low under their turban hats, and their complexions were deliciously -fresh. Although the day was warm, and Letty found her sheer white frock -none too cool, and every other woman in sight had on a thin light -gown, these two handsome English women wore dark, tight-fitting tweed -frocks, and spotless linen collars. Behind them walked two men, one a -thoroughly English-looking young fellow, while the last of the party so -completely fixed Letty’s attention as soon as she put her eyes on him, -that she quite forgot everybody else. - -He was an old man, small, slight, and scrupulously well dressed. His -hair was perfectly white, and his face was bloodless. His clothes were -a pale gray, his hat was a paler gray, and he was in effect a symphony -in gray. Even the rose at his buttonhole was white. But from his pallid -face gleamed a pair of the blackest and most fascinating eyes Letty had -ever beheld. It was as if they had gained in fire and intensity as his -blood and his life grew more sluggish. And however frail he might look, -his eyes were full of vitality. He walked along, leaning upon the arm -of the young man and speaking but little. The party stopped a little -way off to watch a game of tennis, while Sir Archy made straight for -Letty. - -“May I introduce my friends to you?” he asked, in a low voice. “Mrs. -Chessingham, and her sister, Miss Maywood, Chessingham and Mr. -Romaine. Chess is one of the best and cleverest fellows going, and of -good family, although he is a medical man, and he is traveling with Mr. -Romaine--a rich old hypochondriac, I imagine.” - -As soon as he mentioned Mr. Romaine a flood of light burst upon Letty. -“Isn’t he a Virginian?--an American, I mean? And didn’t grandpapa know -him hundreds of years ago?” she asked, eagerly. - -“I have heard he was born in Virginia, as poor Chessingham knows to -his cost,” answered Sir Archy, laughing quietly. “After having gone -all over Europe, Asia, and Africa, the old hunks at last made up his -mind that he would come back to America. Chess was very well pleased, -particularly as Mrs. Chessingham and Miss Maywood were invited to come -as his guests. But old Romaine swears he means to take the whole party -back to Virginia to his old place there that he hasn’t seen for forty -years, and naturally they’ll find it dull.” - -Sir Archy possessed in perfection that appalling English frankness -which puts to shame the characteristic American caution. But Sir -Archy’s mistake was Farebrother’s opportunity. - -“Deuced odd mistake, finding Virginia dull,” remarked that arch -hypocrite, at which Letty rewarded him with a brilliant smile. - -Sir Archy had got his permission by that time, and he went across the -grass to his friends and brought them up. - -The two English women looked at Letty with calmly inquisitive eyes full -of frank admiration. Letty, with a side-look and an air of extreme -modesty, took them from the top of their dainty heads to the soles of -their ugly shoes at one single swift glance. Then Mr. Chessingham was -presented, and last, Mr. Romaine. Mr. Romaine gave the impression of -looking through people when he looked at them and nailing them to the -wall with his glance. And Letty was no exception to the rule. He fixed -his black eyes on her, and said in a peculiarly soft, smooth voice: -“Your name, my dear young lady, is extremely familiar to me. Archibald -Corbin and his brothers were known to me well in my youth at Shrewsbury -plantation.” - -“Mr. Archibald Corbin is my grandfather, and he has spoken often of -you,” replied Letty, gazing with all her eyes. - -This then was Mr. Romaine, the eccentric, the gifted Mr. Romaine, -of whose career vague rumors had reached the quiet Virginia country -neighborhood which he had left so long ago. Far back in the dark -ages, about 1835, when Colonel Corbin had made a memorable trip in -a sailing-vessel to Europe, Mr. Romaine had been an attaché of the -American legation in London; he had resigned that appointment, but he -seemed to have taken a disgust to his native country, and had never -returned to it. And Letty had a dim impression of having heard that -Miss Jemima in her youth had had a slight weakness for the handsome -Romaine. But it was so far in the distant past as to be quite shadowy. -There was a superstition afloat that Mr. Romaine had made an enormous -fortune in some way, and his conduct about Shrewsbury certainly -indicated it. The place had been farmed on shares for a generation -back, and the profits paid the taxes, and no more. But the house, which -was a fine old mansion, had never been suffered to fall into decay, and -was kept in a state of repair little short of marvelous in Virginia. -Nobody was permitted to live in it, and at intervals of ten years -the report would be started that Mr. Romaine intended returning to -Shrewsbury. But nothing of the sort had been said for a long time now, -and meanwhile Mr. Romaine was on the American side, and nobody in his -native county had heard a word of it. - -“And Miss Jemima Corbin,” said Mr. Romaine, a faint smile wrinkling -the fine lines about his mouth. “When I knew her she was a very pretty -young lady; there have been a great many pretty young ladies in the -Corbin family,” he added, with old-fashioned gallantry. - -“Aunt Jemima is still Miss Corbin,” answered Letty, also smiling. “She -never could find a man so good as my grandfather, ‘brother Archibald,’ -as she calls him, and so she would not have any at all.” - -“May I ask if your grandfather is here with you? and is he enjoying -good health?” - -“Yes, he is now in the Casino--I don’t know exactly where, but he will -soon come for me.” - -This reawakening of his early life was not without its effect on Mr. -Romaine, nor was it a wholly pleasant one. For time and Mr. Romaine -were mortal enemies. His face flushed slightly, and he sat down on a -garden chair by Letty, and the next moment Colonel Corbin was seen -advancing upon them. The Colonel wore gaiters of an ancient pattern; -they were some he had before the war. His new frock-coat was tightly -buttoned over his tall, spare figure, and on his head was a broad -palmetto hat. In an instant the two old men recognized each other -and grasped hands. They had been boy friends, and in spite of the -awful stretch of time which had separated them, and the total lack of -communication between them, each turned back with emotion to their -early associations together. - -Then the Colonel was presented to the two ladies, who seemed to think -that there was a vast and unnecessary amount of introducing going on, -and the younger people formed a group to themselves. Letty and Miss -Maywood fell to talking, and Letty asked the inevitable question: - -“How do you like America?” - -“Quite well,” answered Miss Maywood, in her rich, clear English -voice. “Of course the climate is hard on us; these heats are almost -insufferable. But it is very interesting and picturesque, and all that -sort of thing. Mr. Romaine tells us the autumn in Virginia, where he -is to take us to his old place, is beautiful.” - -“Mr. Romaine’s place and our place, Corbin Hall, are not far apart,” -said Letty, and at once Miss Maywood felt a new interest in her. - -“Pray tell me about it,” she said. “Is it a hunting country?” - -“For men,” answered Letty. “But I never knew of women following the -hounds. We sometimes go out on horseback to see the hunt, but we don’t -really follow the hounds.” - -“But there is good hunting, I fancy,” cried Miss Maywood with -animation. “Mr. Romaine has promised me that, and I like a good stiff -country, such as he tells me it is. I have hunted for four seasons in -Yorkshire, but now that Gladys has married in London, she has invited -me to be with her for six months in the year, and although I hate -London, I love Gladys, and it’s a great saving, too. But it puts a stop -to my hunting.” - -Letty noticed that not only did Miss Maywood use Mr. Romaine’s name -very often, but she glanced at him continually. He sat quite close to -the Colonel, listening with a half smile to Colonel Corbin’s sounding -periods, describing the effects of the war and the present status of -things in Virginia. His extraordinarily expressive black eyes supplied -comment without words. - -“I am very glad you are coming to the county,” said Letty, after a -moment, “and I hope you’ll like Newport, too. At first I didn’t like -it, but afterward, I met the Farebrothers”--she spoke in a low voice, -and indicated Farebrother with a glance--“and they have been very -kind to me, and I have had a very good time. We intended to go home -next week. Newport’s a very expensive place,” she added, with a frank -little smile. “But now, we--that is, my grandfather and my aunt and -myself--intend staying a little longer.” - -“Everything in America is expensive,” cried Miss Maywood, with energy. -“I can’t imagine how Mr. Romaine can pay our bills; they are so -enormous. Reginald--Mr. Chessingham--is his doctor, you know, and Mr. -Romaine won’t let Reggie leave him, and Reggie wouldn’t leave Gladys, -and Gladys wouldn’t leave me, and so, here we are. It is the one good -thing about Reggie’s profession. I hate doctors, don’t you?” - -“Why?” asked Letty, in surprise. - -“Because,” said Miss Maywood, positively, “it’s so unpleasant to have -people saying, ‘What a pity--there is that sweet, pretty Gladys Maywood -married to a medical man’--he isn’t even a doctor--and Gladys cannot -go to Court, you know, and it has really made a great difference in -her position in London. Papa was an army man, and we were presented -when we came out; but society has come to an end as far as poor Gladys -is concerned. And although Reggie is a dear fellow, and I love him, I -do wish he wasn’t associated with plasters and pills and that sort of -thing.” - -All this was thoroughly puzzling to Letty, but she had realized -since she came to Newport that there was a great, big, wide world, -with which she was totally unfamiliar, outside of Corbin Hall and -its neighborhood. She knew she was a stranger to the thoughts and -feelings of the people who lived in this outer world. She glanced at -“Reggie”--he had a strong, sensible face, and she could imagine that -Mr. Romaine might well find help in him. - -“Is Mr. Romaine very, very ill?” she asked. - -“I don’t know,” replied Miss Maywood, smiling. “He’s a very -interesting man, rich, and has an excellent position in England. He -doesn’t do a great deal, but he always has strength enough to travel. I -think, occasionally, perhaps, he is only hipped, but it would not do to -say generally. Sometimes he talks about dying, and sometimes he talks -about getting married.” - -“Who would marry him, though?” asked Letty, innocently. - -“Who _wouldn’t_ marry him?” replied Miss Maywood, calmly. “There was a -French woman a few years ago--” She stopped suddenly, remembering that -she knew very little about this French woman, a widow of good family -but small means. There had been a subdued hurricane of talk, and she -remembered hearing that at the time wagers had been made as to whether -the French woman would score or not. But Mr. Romaine had apparently -outwitted Madame de Fonblanque,--that was her name,--and since the -Chessinghams had been with him, nothing had been seen or heard of the -French widow. So Miss Maywood merely said in her gentle, even way, “I -grant you, he isn’t young, and his health is not good, but his manners -and his money are above reproach, and so is his position.” Miss -Maywood mentally added to this last qualification--“for an American.” - -“Marrying for manners, money, and position doesn’t strike me as quite a -nice thing to do,” said Letty, stoutly. - -Miss Maywood simply glanced at her, but the look said as plainly as -words, “What a fool to suppose anybody would believe you.” - -But what she actually said was, with a little laugh, “That’s very nice -to say, but marriage without those things is out of the question, and -the possession of them marks the difference between a possible man and -an impossible man.” - -This short discussion had brought the two young women to a mutual -contempt of one another, although each was too well bred to show -it. Just then there was a slight diversion in the group, and Letty -gravitated toward Sir Archy. It was then his turn instead of -Farebrother’s to receive assurances of Miss Corbin’s distinguished -consideration. - -“Where have you been all the morning?” she asked, with her sweetest -wheedling. “I’ve been looking out for you a whole hour.” - -Farebrother was then engaged with Mrs. Chessingham and Miss Maywood, -and did not hear this colossal fib, which would not have ranked as a -fib at all in Letty’s birthplace. But Miss Maywood heard it with a -thrill of disgust. Not so Sir Archy. He had found out by that time that -the typical American girl--_not_ the sham English one, which sometimes -is evolved from an American seedling--is prone to say flattering things -to men, which cannot always be taken at their face value. Nevertheless, -he liked the process, and showed his white teeth in a pleasant smile. - -“And,” continued Letty, with determined cajolery, “you really must not -treat me with the utter neglect you’ve shown me for the last ten days.” - -“Neglect, by Jove,” said Sir Archy, laughing. “It seems to me that the -neglect you complain of keeps me on the go from morning till night. -When I am not doing errands for you I am reading up on subjects that I -have never thought essential to a polite education before, but which -you seem to think anybody but a Patagonian would know.” - -Nothing escaped Miss Maywood’s ears. “The brazen thing,” she thought -indignantly to herself. “Pretending that she wouldn’t marry for money -and position and now simply throwing herself at Sir Archy’s head.” - -Letty, however, was altogether unconscious of this, and went on with -happy indifference. - -“I found your knowledge of the American Constitution perfectly -rudimentary, and of course I could not condescend to talk to any man -ignorant of the first principles of our government, and you ought -to go down on your knees and thank me for putting you in the way of -enlightenment.” - -Every word Letty uttered startled Miss Maywood more and more. It was -bad enough to see Sir Archy swallowing the huge lumps of flattery -that Miss America so calmly administered, but to see him take mildly -a hectoring and overbearing attack upon the one subject--public -affairs--on which a man is supposed to be most superior to woman was -simply paralyzing. Miss Maywood turned, fully expecting to see Sir -Archy walk off in high dudgeon. Instead of that he was laughing at -Letty, his fine, ruddy face showing a boyish dimple as he smiled. - -Then there was a move toward the Casino. Somebody had proposed -luncheon. Colonel Corbin and Mr. Romaine got up from their seats and -joined the younger people. The Colonel, with a flourish of his hand, -remarked to Mrs. Chessingham, “You have witnessed, madam, the meeting -of two old men who have not seen each other in more than forty years. A -very gratifying meeting, madam; for although all retrospection has its -pain, it has also its pleasure.” - -This allusion to himself as an old man evidently did not enrapture Mr. -Romaine. His eyes contracted and he scowled unmistakably, while the -Colonel, with a bland smile, fondly imagined that he had said the very -thing calculated to please. Farebrother took the lead, and the party -was soon seated at a round table, close to a window that looked out -upon the gay lawns and tennis grounds. Then Letty had a chance to study -Mr. and Mrs. Chessingham and Mr. Romaine a little more closely. - -Mr. Chessingham was unmistakably prepossessing. He had in abundance -the vitality, the steadiness of nerve, the quiet reserve strength -most lacking in Mr. Romaine. There was a healthy personal magnetism -about the young doctor which accounted for Mr. Romaine’s willingness -to saddle himself with all of Chessingham’s impedimenta. Mrs. -Chessingham, although as like Miss Maywood as two peas, yet had -something much more soft and winning about her. She was, it is true, -strictly conventional, and had the typical English woman’s respect for -rank and money and matrimony, but marriage had plainly done much for -her. She might grieve that “Reggie” could not go to Court, but she did -full justice to Reggie as a man and a doctor. - -Miss Maywood sat next Mr. Romaine, and agreed scrupulously with -everything he said. This peculiarity of hers seemed to inspire the old -gentleman with the determination to make a spectacle of her, and he -advanced some of the most grotesque and alarming fallacies imaginable, -to which Miss Maywood gave a facile assent. - -“It is my belief,” he said, quite gravely, at last, in consequence -of an allusion to the Franco-Prussian war, “that had the Communists -succeeded in keeping possession of Paris a month longer, we should have -seen the German army trooping out of France, and glad to get away at -any price. Had the Communists’ intelligent use of petroleum been made -available against the Prussians, who knows what the result might have -been? I have always thought the few disorders they committed very much -exaggerated, and their final overthrow a misfortune for France.” - -“Great heavens!” exclaimed Colonel Corbin, falling back in his chair; -but finding nothing else to say, he poured out a glass of Apollinaris -and gulped it down in portentous silence. - -“No doubt you are right,” said Miss Maywood, turning her fresh, -handsome face on Mr. Romaine. “One never can get at the truth of these -things. The Communists were beaten, and so they were wrong.” - -There was a slight pause, during which Sir Archy and Farebrother -exchanged sympathetic grins; they saw how the land lay, and then Letty -spoke up calmly. - -“I can’t agree with Mr. Romaine,” she said in her clear voice. “I think -the Communists were the most frightful wretches that ever drew breath. -To think of their murdering that brave old archbishop.” - -“Political necessity, my dear young lady,” murmured Mr. Romaine. “M. -Darboy brought his fate on himself.” - -“However,” retorted Letty with a gay smile, “it is just possible that -you may be guying us. The fact is, Mr. Romaine, your eyes are too -expressive, and when you uttered those terrific sentiments, I saw that -you were simply setting a trap for us, as deep as a well and as wide as -a church door. But we won’t walk in it to please you.” - -Miss Maywood colored quickly. It never had occurred to her literal mind -before that Mr. Romaine did not mean every word he said, and if she -had thought to the contrary, she would not have dared to say it. She -fully expected an outbreak of the temper which Mr. Romaine was known -to possess, but instead, as with Sir Archy, Letty’s daring onslaught -produced only a smile. Mr. Romaine was well pleased at the notion that -he was not too old to be chaffed. - -“You are much too acute,” he said, with a sort of silent laughter. - -“Just what I have always told Miss Corbin,” remarked Farebrother, -energetically. “If you will join me, perhaps we can organize a society -for the suppression of clever women, and then we sha’n’t be at their -mercy as we now are.” - -“And don’t forget a clause guaranteeing that they shall be deprived of -all opportunities of a higher education,” suggested Sir Archy, who had -learned by that time to forward any joke on hand. - -“That would be unnecessary,” said Mr. Romaine. “The higher education -does them no harm at all, and gives them much innocent pride and -pleasure.” - -As the luncheon progressed Miss Letty became more and more in doubt -whether she liked Mr. Romaine or not. She regarded him as being -somewhere in the neighborhood of ninety-five, and wished to feel the -respect for him she ought to feel for all decent graybeards. But -Mr. Romaine was as fully determined not to be thought old as Letty -was determined to think that he was old. He was certainly unlike -any old man that she had ever met; not that there was anything in -the least ridiculous about him,--he was much too astute to affect -juvenility,--but there was an alertness in his wonderful black eyes -and a keenness in his soft speech that was far removed from old -age. And he was easily master of everybody at the table, excepting -Farebrother and Letty. With feminine intuition Letty felt Mr. Romaine’s -power, and knew that had Mr. Chessingham been the old man and Mr. -Romaine the young doctor, Mr. Romaine would still have been in the -ascendant. The Colonel, with well meant but cruel persistence, tried -to get Mr. Romaine into a reminiscent mood, but in vain. Mr. Romaine -utterly ignored the “forty years ago, my dear Romaine,” with which -Colonel Corbin began many stories that never came to a climax, and he -positively declined to discuss anything that had happened more than -twenty years before. In fact this peculiarity was so marked that Letty -strongly suspected that the old gentleman’s memory had been rigidly -sawed off at a certain period, as a surgeon cuts off a leg at the -knee-joint. - -The Chessinghams evidently enjoyed themselves, and the utmost -cordiality prevailed, except between the two girls, who eyed each other -very much as the gladiators might have done when in the arena for the -fray. Still they were perfectly polite, and showed a truly feminine -capacity for pretty hypocrisy. Nevertheless, when the luncheon was -over and the party separated, Miss Maywood and Miss Corbin parted with -cordial sentiments of mutual disesteem. Scarcely were the two sisters -alone at the hotel, before Miss Maywood burst forth with, “Well, -Gladys, I suppose you see what the typical American girl is! Did you -ever hear anything equal to Miss Corbin’s language to Mr. Romaine and -Sir Archy? Actually rating them! And then the next moment plying them -with the most outrageous flattery.” - -“And yet, Ethel, she seemed to please them,” answered Mrs. Chessingham, -doubtfully. “But I was a little scandalized, I admit.” - -“A little scandalized! Now, I do assure you, leaving out of account -altogether any personal grievance about these two particular men, I -never heard a girl talk so to men in all my life.” - -Ethel told the truth this time and no mistake. - -“Nor did I,” said Mrs. Chessingham. “But perhaps she’s not a fair type.” - -“Didn’t Sir Archy tell us she was the most typical American that he -has yet seen? And doesn’t Mr. Romaine know all about her family? And -really,” continued Miss Maywood, getting off her high horse, and -looking genuinely puzzled, “I scarcely know whether it would be right -for me to make a companion of such a girl; you know her home is in the -same county as Mr. Romaine’s place, quite near, I fancy--and we have -been so carefully brought up by dear mama, and so often warned against -associating with reckless girls, that I am not quite sure that we ought -to know her when we go to Virginia.” - -Here Mrs. Chessingham’s confidence in Reggie came to her help. - -“Now don’t say that, Ethel dear. Reggie thinks her a charming girl, -and you saw for yourself nobody seemed to take her seriously except -ourselves, so the best thing for you to do is to go on quietly and be -guided by circumstances.” - -“But the way she made eyes!” said Miss Maywood, disgustedly. “It’s -perfectly plain she means to marry either Mr. Romaine or Sir Archy--she -advertises the fact so plainly that she’ll probably overshoot the mark. -At all events, I shall be on my guard, and unless I am much mistaken, -you will find that we can’t afford to know her.” - -Meanwhile Letty, in the little sitting-room of their lodgings, -was haranguing Colonel Corbin and Miss Jemima upon Miss Maywood’s -iniquities. - -“The most brazen piece, Aunt Jemima, actually saying that any girl -would marry that old pachyderm, Mr. Romaine! I wouldn’t marry him if -he was padded an inch thick with thousand-dollar bills! But she as good -as said _she_ would--and the way he poked fun at her! She agrees with -everything he says, and she is making such a dead set at him that she -can’t see the old gentleman’s game. I am perfectly disgusted with her.” - -At the first mention of Mr. Romaine’s name, a faint color came into -Miss Jemima’s gentle, withered face. - -“Don’t speak of him that way, Letty dear,” she said. “He was a -charming man once. But, perhaps, my love, it would be more prudent for -you to avoid Miss Maywood. Nothing is more dangerous to young girls -than association with others who lack modesty and refinement, as you -represent this young lady.” - -“I’ll think over it,” answered the prudent Letty, who at that moment -remembered that they were all going to the country, which is dull for -young people at best, and a new neighbor is a distinct godsend not -to be trifled with. But in her heart she had grave doubts of Miss -Maywood’s propriety. - - - - -IV - - -It might be supposed that the modest sum of money, which seemed like -a million to Colonel Corbin, would have been used in paying off some -of the incumbrances on Corbin Hall, or at least in refitting some -part of it. A few hundreds might have been spent very judiciously in -stopping up the chinks and crannies of the house, in replacing the worn -carpets and having the rickety old furniture mended. But far were such -thoughts from the Colonel, Miss Jemima, or Letty. Money was a rare and -unfamiliar commodity to all of them, and when they got any of it they -wisely spent it in pleasuring. New carpets and sound furniture were not -in the least essential to these simple folk, and would have altogether -spoiled the harmony of the comfortable shabbiness that prevailed at -Corbin Hall. So the Colonel proposed to stop a month or two in New York -in order to disburden themselves of this inconvenient amount of cash. -Farebrother found out involuntarily, as indeed everybody else did, the -state of affairs, and he took positive delight in the simplicity and -primitiveness of these sweet and excellent people, to whom the majesty -of the dollar was so utterly unknown. - -So admirably had Mr. Romaine got on with the Corbin party, in spite of -the Colonel’s continual efforts to remind him of the time when they -were boys together, that he announced his intention, one night, upon -a visit to the little sitting-room appropriated to the Chessinghams, -of going to New York the same time the Corbins did, and staying at the -same old-fashioned but aristocratic hotel. The two young women were -sitting under the drop-light, each with the inevitable piece of fancy -work in her hand that is so necessary to the complete existence of an -English woman. Mrs. Chessingham glanced at Ethel, whose fine, white -skin grew a little pale. - -Mr. Romaine sat watching her with something like a malicious smile -upon his delicate, high-bred old face. He did not often bestow his -company upon his suite, as Letty wickedly called his party. He traveled -in extravagant luxury, and what with his own room, his sitting-room -and his valet’s room, and the apartments furnished the Chessinghams -and Miss Maywood, it really did seem a marvel sometimes, as Ethel -Maywood said, how anybody could pay such bills. But he did pay them, -promptly and ungrudgingly. Nobody--not Chessingham himself--knew how -Mr. Romaine’s money came or how much he had. Nor did Mr. Romaine’s -relatives, of whom he had large tribes and clans in Virginia, know -any more on this interesting subject. They would all have liked to -know, not only where it came from, but where it was going to. Not the -slightest hint, however, had been got from Mr. Romaine during his forty -years’ sojourn on the other side. Nor did his unlooked-for return to -his native land incline him any more to confidences about his finances. -There was a cheque-book always at hand, and Mr. Romaine paid his score -with a lofty indifference to detail that was delightful to women’s -souls, particularly to Mrs. Chessingham and Miss Maywood. Both of them -were scrupulously honest women, and not disposed in the slightest -degree to impose upon him. But if he found out by accident that they -had walked when they might have driven, or had paid for the carriage -themselves, or had in any way paid a bill that might have been charged -to him, he always chided them gently, and declared that if it happened -again all would be over between Chessingham and himself. This charming -peculiarity had caused Ethel to say very often to her sister: - -“Although one would much rather marry an Englishman than an American, I -don’t believe any Englishman alive would be so indulgent to a woman as -Mr. Romaine would be. I have never known any married woman made so free -of her husband’s money as we are with Mr. Romaine’s, and if he does -offer himself, I am sure he will make most unheard-of settlements.” - -But when Mr. Romaine, sitting back in a dark velvet chair which showed -off his face, clear cut as a cameo, with his superb black eyes shining -full of meaning, spoke of the New York trip, Ethel began to think that -there was no longer any hope of that offer. She remained silent, but -Mrs. Chessingham, with a pitying glance at her sister, said resignedly, -“It will be very pleasant, no doubt. The glimpse we had of New York -when we landed was scarcely enough for so large a place.” - -“It is quite a large place,” answered Mr. Romaine, gravely. “How large -should you take it to be?” he asked Miss Maywood. - -“About two or three hundred thousand,” replied Ethel, dubiously. - -“There are four million people within a radius of ten miles of New -York’s City Hall. Good-night,” said Mr. Romaine, with much suavity, -rising and going. - -When he was out of the door Mrs. Chessingham spoke up promptly: “What a -story! I don’t believe a word of it.” - -“Of course it isn’t true,” complained Ethel, “but that is the worst -of Americans--you never can tell when they are joking and when they -aren’t. As for Miss Corbin, I simply can’t understand her at all. -However, this move of Mr. Romaine’s settles one thing. Miss Corbin will -be Mrs. Romaine, mark my words.” - -“Reggie says that there is positively nothing in it; that Mr. Romaine -likes her, and is amused by her. She _is_ amusing.” - -“Yes, I know she is,” replied Ethel, ruefully, with something like -tears in her voice at the admission. - -“And he says that she wouldn’t marry Mr. Romaine to save his life--and -that he has heard her laugh at the idea.” - -“That only shows, Gladys dear, how blind Reggie is, like the rest of -his sex. Of course Miss Corbin protests that she doesn’t want Mr. -Romaine. She did the equivalent to it the very first talk we ever had -together, that day at the Casino. But I didn’t believe her, and what -shocked me was her want of candor. The notion of a girl who doesn’t -want money and position is entirely too great a strain on my credulity. -I suppose she’ll say next that she doesn’t want to be Lady Corbin -and live at Fox Court. I think it’s much better to be truthful about -things.” - -“So do I, dear. But my own belief is that she really likes Mr. -Farebrother best of all.” - -“Nonsense,” cried Ethel, sharply. “Mr. Farebrother couldn’t begin -to give her Sir Archy’s position or Mr. Romaine’s money. He’s an -architect, with about enough to live on after his father’s fortune -is cut up into six or seven parts. Not that I pretend to despise Mr. -Farebrother; I am truthful in all things, and I think he’s a very -presentable, pleasant man, and would be a good match. But to suppose -that any girl in her senses would take him in preference to Mr. Romaine -or Sir Archibald Corbin is too wildly grotesque for anything. I’ll -follow Mr. Romaine’s example and say good-night.” And off she went. - -Sir Archy had begun to find Newport pleasanter day by day. He had -wearied in the beginning of the adulation paid to his title and his -money, and it soon came to be understood that he was not in the market, -so to speak. He found the Farebrother girls pleasant and amiable, and -showed them some attention. As he showed none whatever to any other of -the cottage girls, nor did he go to any except to the Farebrothers’ -villa, the family were credited with having laid a deep scheme to -monopolize him. The real state of the case was too simple to be -understood by artificial people. - -Then he had an agreeable sense of familiarity with Mrs. Chessingham -and Miss Maywood. They were really well bred and well educated English -gentlewomen. Ethel’s aloneness had perhaps developed rather too sharply -her aspirations toward an establishment of her own, but that is a not -uncommon thing among women, and the terrible English frankness brings -it to the front without any disguises whatever. Sir Archy, though, knew -how to take care of himself among his own countrywomen, as Englishmen -do. But he was like clay in the hands of the potter where his American -cousin, as he persisted in calling Letty Corbin, was concerned. - -Whether Letty was extravagantly fond of him or utterly detested him he -could not for the life of him discern. He did discover unmistakably, -though, that she was a very charming girl. Her frankness, so different -from Ethel Maywood’s frankness, was perfectly bewitching. She -acknowledged with the utmost candor her fondness for admiration,--her -willingness to swallow not only the bait of flattery, but the hook, -bob, sinker, and all,--and calmly related the details of her various -forms of coquetry. Thus she possessed the charm of both art and -simplicity, but, as the case is with her genus, when she fancied she -was artful she was very simple, and when she meant to be very simple -she was extremely artful. - -But she was a delightful and never ending puzzle to Sir Archy. He -was manly, clever, and modest, but deep down in his heart was fixed -that ineradicable masculine delusion that he was, after all, a very -desirable fellow for any girl; and his money and his title had always -been treated as such outward and visible signs of an inward and -spiritual grace, that he would have been more or less than human if -he had not been sanguine of success if ever he really put his mind to -winning any girl. But Letty was a conundrum to him of the sort that it -is said drove old Homer to suicide because he could not solve it. - -Farebrother, however, understood Letty and Sir Archy and the Romaine -party perfectly, and the little comedy played before his eyes had a -profound interest for him. When he heard of Mr. Romaine’s decision to -go to New York and stay at the same hotel with the Corbins, he chuckled -and shrewdly suspected that Mr. Romaine had in mind more Miss Maywood’s -discomfiture than Miss Corbin’s satisfaction. He chuckled more than -ever when, on the evening he went to see the Corbins off on the boat, -he found the Romaine party likewise established on deck with Mr. -Romaine’s valet and Mrs. Chessingham’s maid superintending the transfer -of a van-load of trunks to the steamer. - -They were all sitting together on the upper deck when Farebrother -appeared. He carried three bouquets exactly alike, which he handed -respectively to Mrs. Chessingham, Miss Maywood, and Letty. Miss Maywood -colored beautifully under the thin gray veil drawn over her handsome, -aquiline features. Mrs. Chessingham smiled prettily, but Letty’s face -was a study. A thunder-cloud would have been more amiable. Farebrother, -however, was not in the least disconcerted, but went over to her and -smiled at her in a very exasperating manner. - -“So kind of you to give us all bouquets alike,” began Letty, scornfully. - -Meanwhile, in order to keep her chagrin from being obvious to Ethel -and Mrs. Chessingham, who would by no means have understood her -particularity about attentions, she was cuddling the bouquet as if it -were a real treasure. - -“I suppose your feeble intelligence was not equal to inventing three -separate bouquets for one occasion,” she continued, frowning at the -offender. - -“Yes, it was,” answered Farebrother, stoutly. “I knew though that it -would thoroughly exasperate you, so I did it on purpose.” - -At this candid defiance Letty’s scowl dissolved into a smile. - -“I like your childlike innocence,” she remarked, “and the way you avow -your dishonest motives. And I like a man who is a match for me. I was -going to give the wretched nosegay to the stewardess, but now I’ll keep -it as a souvenir of your delightful impertinence.” - -“Thank you,” responded Farebrother politely. There was still half an -hour before the boat started, and all three of the young women felt a -degree of secret anxiety as to whether Sir Archy Corbin would be on -hand to bid them good-by. He had spoken vaguely of seeing them again, -and had accepted Colonel Corbin’s elaborate invitation to make a visit -at Corbin Hall, but whether he would depart far enough from his British -caution in dealing with marriageable young women to see them off on the -boat, was highly uncertain. - -Miss Maywood, being an eminently reasonable girl, did not fix her -hopes too high, and thought that to be Lady Corbin was too good to be -true. Yet it was undeniable that he seemed to like her, and in this -extraordinary country, where, according to her ideas, there was a -scandalous laxity regarding the value of attentions, Sir Archy might -fall into the prevailing ways. So she kept her weather eye open, in -spite of the presence of Mr. Romaine, who sat a little distance off -slyly watching the bouquet episode and Farebrother. - -Letty considered Mr. Romaine merely in the light of an interesting -fossil, but she felt a characteristic desire to monopolize Farebrother. -Besides, at the bottom of her heart was a genuine admiration for him, -and she felt a sentimental tenderness at the parting which she fully -expected him to share. But Farebrother was irritatingly unresponsive. -He divided his attentions among the three women with what was to Letty -the most infuriating impartiality. Nor did he show the downcast spirits -which she fully expected, and altogether his behavior was inexplicable -and unsatisfactory. - -Letty, however, determined, as the severest punishment she could -inflict, to be very debonair with him, and when at last he seated -himself in the camp chair next hers, she began upon a flippant subject -which she thought would let Farebrother see that the parting was as -little to her as to him. - -“When I get to New York I shall have some money of my own to spend, and -I have been wondering what I shall do with it,” she said, gravely. - -“I am glad to see you appreciate your responsibilities,” answered -Farebrother. - -“Now I know you are making fun of me,” said Letty, calmly. “But I don’t -mind. In the first place, I would like to buy two stained glass windows -for the church which you miserable Yankees wrecked during the war. Have -you any idea of the price of stained glass windows?” - -“I think they run from fifteen dollars up to twenty or thirty thousand.” - -“I shouldn’t get a thirty thousand dollar one, at all events. Then I -must have a complete new riding outfit for myself. This comes of going -to Newport. Before that I thought my riding-skirt, saddle, and bridle -quite good enough, but now I yearn for a tailor made habit and all the -etceteras. How much do you think that will cost? However, it’s not -worth while to ask you, for you wouldn’t be likely to know. And if you -knew, you wouldn’t tell me the truth.” - -“Again--thanks.” - -“And of course I want some clothes--swell gowns like those I saw at -Newport. And my mother’s watch is past repairing any more, and my piano -is on its last legs, and I promised to bring dear Mrs. Cary, our next -neighbor, an easy-chair for a present, and of course I shall have to -carry Dad Davy and all the other servants something nice, and I must -make a little gift to Aunt Jemima, and, and--I’m afraid my money won’t -hold out.” - -“Don’t give up,” said Farebrother, encouragingly. “Leave out the swell -gowns, and the watch, and the piano, and the riding habit, and I -daresay you’ll have enough left for the rest.” - -“What do you take me for? To get nothing for myself? Please understand -I am not so foolish as I look. But, perhaps, after all, I won’t buy any -of those things, and I will lay it all out in a pair of pearl bracelets -to match my mother’s necklace, and trust to luck to get another -windfall at some time during my sojourn in this vale of tears.” - -But Farebrother, who professed to be deeply interested in this scheme -for squandering a fortune, would not let the subject drop. He drew Miss -Maywood into the conversation, and although the two girls cordially -disliked each other, they were too ladylike to show it, and they had -in mind the prospect of spending some months in a lonely country -neighborhood, when each might find the other a resource. - -“I should think, dear,” said the literal Ethel, in her sweet, slow -English voice, “that it would be impossible to buy half the things you -are thinking of out of that much money, and everything is so ruinously -dear in New York, I understand.” - -“Oh,” answered Letty, airily, “it’s not the impossibility of the thing -that puzzles me; it is the making up of my mind as to which one of the -impossibilities I shall finally conclude to achieve.” - -Miss Maywood thought this a very flippant way of talking, but all -American girls were distressingly flippant, except the sham English -ones that she met at Newport, who were distressingly serious. And -then in a moment or two more a genuine sensation occurred. Sir Archy -appeared, red but triumphant, followed by his man, and both of them -loaded down with gun-cases, hat-boxes, fishing-reels, packing-cases, -mackintoshes, sticks, umbrellas, traveling-rugs and pillows, -guide-books and all the vast impedimenta with which an Englishman -prepares for a twelve hours’ trip as if he were going to the antarctic -circle. - -Everybody was surprised to see him, and to see him in that guise. Mrs. -Chessingham opened her eyes, the ever ready blood flew into Ethel’s -fair face, while Letty uttered an exclamation of surprise. - -“You here!” she cried. - -“Yes,” sighed Sir Archy, beginning to pitch down his sticks, umbrellas -and mackintoshes, while he heaped a whole cartload of other things upon -the patient valet. “I made up my mind at the last moment that it would -be deucedly dull without all of you, and here I am.” - -Mr. Romaine, who had been sitting at a little distance, now advanced, -his eyes gleaming with a Mephistophelian amusement. In traveling -costume, his make-up was no less complete than in full evening dress. -His perfectly fitting ulster was buttoned closely around his slight -figure; his usual gray hat was replaced by a correct traveling-cap; -his dog-skin gloves fitted without a wrinkle. He took in at once -the sensation Sir Archy’s unexpected appearance would create in the -feminine contingent of the party, and he wanted to be on hand to enjoy -it. - -“We are very pleased to have your company, Sir Archy,” he said, -blandly, “and still more so if you intend patronizing the same hotel -that we shall in New York.” - -“Thank you,” answered Sir Archy, heartily. “I had intended to do so, -having been recommended by Colonel Corbin.” - -Just then the Colonel appeared. - -“Why, my dear fellow,” he cried, in his rich, cordial voice. “This is -truly gratifying. I thought when I bade you farewell this morning it -was for a considerable period, until you paid us that promised visit at -Corbin Hall,” for the Colonel had become completely reconciled to Sir -Archy, and had generously overlooked his experiences during the war. - -“Yes,” said Sir Archy, cheerfully, “I was afraid I’d be a horrid bore, -following you all up this way, but I felt so dismal after I had told -you good-by--swore so hard at Tompkins, and made a brute of myself -generally--that at last I concluded I’d better pull up stakes and -quit.” - -“Nothing could have been more judicious, my young kinsman,” responded -the Colonel, “and these ladies, I am sure, are the magnets that have -drawn you to us.” - -“Are you quite sure of that, Corbin?” asked Mr. Romaine, with a foxy -smile. “Sometimes a cow does not like to be chased by a haystack.” - -Sir Archy, still busy with his traps, did not take this in. Ethel -Maywood did not contradict it at all. She never took issue with Mr. -Romaine, but Letty flushed angrily. She concluded then that Mr. Romaine -was very old and very disagreeable. - -Farebrother was still lingering, although the first whistle had already -blown. It was about nine o’clock on a lovely September evening. The -moon had risen, and a pale, opaline glow still lingered on sea and sky, -bathing the harbor and the white walled fort and a fleet of yachts in -its magic light. The scene and the hour melted Letty. She had been -very happy at Newport. Usually, the first taste a provincial gets of -the great world beyond is bitter in the mouth, but her experiences -had been rather happy, and of all the men she met, Farebrother, -whose father had made his money in wines and liquors, and who had -conscientious scruples against making money, had impressed her the -most. With the easy confidence born of youthful vanity, and the -simplicity of a provincial girl, Letty fancied that Farebrother would -turn up at Corbin Hall within a month, unable to keep away from her -longer. But at the actual moment of saying good-by, some lines she -had once heard came back to her--“A chord is snapped asunder at every -parting”--some faint doubt, whether, after all, he cared enough about -her to seek her out, crossed her mind. Farebrother caught her eyes -fixed on him with a new light in them. He had begun then to make his -good-bys. Ethel Maywood only felt that general regret at parting with -him that she always felt at seeing the last of an eligible man--but the -presence of Mr. Romaine and Sir Archy Corbin was more than enough to -console her. All the others, though, were genuinely sorry--he was so -bright, so full of good fellowship, such a capital fellow all around. - -The Colonel wrung his hand for five minutes. He gave Farebrother seven -separate invitations to visit them at Corbin Hall, each more pressing -than the last; he sent his regards to everything at the Farebrother -cottage, including the butler. “A very worthy man, although in an -humble station in life, and particularly attentive to me whenever I -availed myself of your noble hospitality, so that I did not feel the -want of my own serving man, David, who is equally worthy, although a -great fool.” - -Miss Jemima pressed Farebrother’s hand warmly, and promised to send him -a gallon of a particular kind of peach cordial which she knew was very -superior to the trashy imported cordial he had been reduced to drinking. - -Letty said nothing, but when Farebrother came to say good-by to her, -she made a deft movement that took them off a little to themselves, -where a word might be said in private without the others hearing it. - -“Good-by,” she said, in a voice with a real thrill in it, such as -Farebrother had never heard before. - -He had heard her in earnest about books, politics, religion, and -numerous other subjects, but seriousness in her tone with men, and -especially with men who admired her, was something new. He held her -slim gloved hand in his, and he felt the light pressure of her fingers -as she said quickly, in a low voice: - -“I sha’n’t forget your goodness to me. I hope we shall meet again.” - -“I hope so too,” answered Farebrother, laughing. - -The extreme cheeriness of his tone grated upon Letty. She tried to -withdraw her hand, but Farebrother held on to it stoutly. A change, -too, came over him. His bright, strong face grew tender, and he looked -at Letty with a glance so piercing that it forced her to meet his gaze -and then forced her to drop her eyes. - -“We shall meet again, and soon, if I can compass it; and meanwhile, -will you promise not to forget me?” - -A hubbub of talk had been around them. The tramp of the last belated -ones hurrying across the gang-plank, and the screaming of the whistle -made a commotion that drowned their voices except for each other. - -“I promise,” said Letty, her heart beginning to beat and her cheeks to -flush. - -She was very emotional and she was conscious that her eyes were filling -with tears and her throat was beginning to throb, and she wanted -Farebrother to go before she betrayed herself. - -“Good-by, and God bless you,” he said, with one last pressure of the -hand. - -By that time the gang-plank was being hauled in. Farebrother swung -himself over the rail to the deck below, ran along the steamer’s -gangway, and just as the blue water showed between the great hull and -the dock, he cleared it at a bound and stood on the pier waving his -hat. The gigantic steamer moved majestically out, while handkerchiefs -fluttered from her decks and from the dock. It was now almost dark, but -as they steamed quickly out into the moonlit bay, Letty fancied she -could still distinguish Farebrother’s athletic figure in the shadowy -darkness that quickly descended upon the shore. - - - - -V - - -Next morning, after the usual tussle and struggle for their luggage, in -which the whole party, including Mr. Romaine’s valet, Sir Archy’s man -and Miss Maywood’s and Mrs. Chessingham’s maid took part, they were all -driven up to the old-fashioned “before the war” hotel where they had -all engaged quarters. - -Those for Mr. Romaine and his party were of course the finest in the -house, on the drawing-room floor, and the best corner rooms. Sir Archy -cared very little where he was put, except that his rooms must be large -and have a bath, at which he never ceased to grumble, because there -were not shower baths, Turkish baths, Russian baths, and every other -arrangement provided for all varieties of bathing. - -Colonel Corbin, having in hand what he considered a magnificent sum -of money, less a considerable hole in it made by prolonging his stay -at Newport, and a present to Letty and a like sum to Miss Jemima, -established himself _en prince_. He had a bed-room and sitting-room -for himself, besides the bed-rooms and sitting-room for Miss Jemima -and Letty. He insisted upon having their meals served in private, but -at this Letty flatly rebelled. Go to the public dining-room she would, -to see and be seen. The Colonel was no match for Letty when she really -put forth her prowess--for liberty or death was that young woman’s -motto--and in an hour or two after their arrival at the hotel, he very -obediently followed her down to the great red-carpeted room, where all -the lazy people in the hotel were taking a ten o’clock breakfast. - -Letty looked uncommonly charming in her simple, well-fitting gown of -dark blue, and masculine eyes were pretty generally turned on her as -she entered. But the Colonel attracted still more attention. As he -stalked in the great open doorway the head waiter, as imposing as only -a black head waiter can be, suddenly exclaimed: - -“Hi! Good Lord A’mighty! Ef dis heah ain’ Marse Colonel!” - -The Colonel recognized his friend in an instant, and extended his hand -cordially. - -“Why, bless my soul! If it isn’t Black Peter, that used to be Tom -Lightfoot’s body servant! How do you do? how do you do?” - -By that time they were sawing the air with mutual delight. - -“An’ ter think I done live ter see Marse Colonel agin! An’ how is all -de folks? How ole missis, and Miss Sally Lightfoot, and little Marse -Torm?” - -“Admirably, admirably well,” cried the Colonel, beginning to give all -the particulars of ole missis, Miss Sally, little Marse Torm, etc., -in his big baritone. The people all turned toward the Colonel and his -long-lost friend, and everybody smiled. Letty, not at all confused, -stood by her grandfather’s side and put her hand into Black Peter’s paw. - -Peter was extremely elegant, after an antique pattern, not unlike the -Colonel’s own, and proud to be recognized as a friend by “de fust -quality.” - -He escorted Colonel Corbin and Letty to the most prominent table in -the room, called up half a dozen waiters to take their orders, and -succeeded in making everybody in the great room see and hear what was -going on. He was at last obliged to tear himself away, and the Colonel, -while waiting for breakfast, suddenly remembering that he must go to -the office to inquire after the health of the room-clerk, who was also -an old acquaintance, he left Letty alone for a moment, while he stalked -out, magnificently. - -Letty had picked up the newspaper and was deep in an editorial on the -tariff, when she realized that some one was approaching, and the next -moment Farebrother drew a chair up to hers. - -For a moment she was too astonished to speak, and simply stared at him, -upon which Farebrother began laughing. - -“W-where did you come from?” she cried, breathlessly. - -“From Newport,” answered Farebrother, still laughing at Letty’s face. - -“And how did you come?” - -“By train. Do you suppose when I saw Sir Archy turn up, to come down -here, that I meant to be left in the lurch? So I made up my mind in a -jiffy, threw a few things in my bag, and made the ten o’clock train; -lovely night going down, wasn’t it?” - -“Yes,” answered Letty, who was instantly armed with the whole panoply -of coquetry, “lovely. I sat out on deck two hours with Sir Archy.” - -“That was a pretty good stretch for a fellow. There are very few girls -who can hold a man’s attention that long, and it’s rather a dangerous -thing to try,” said Farebrother, with calm assurance. - -“We had a very interesting time,” answered Letty, stiffly. - -“Oh, yes, I know how an Englishman talks to a girl by moonlight. Tells -her about sheep farming, or how he hooked a salmon in the Highlands, or -killed a pig in India.” - -“Our conversation _was_ a little on that order,” replied Letty, weakly. -“But it is a relief to meet with a man who can withstand the influences -of the moon and talk sense.” - -“I never could,” said Farebrother, and then he asked for Miss Jemima -and the rest of the party. Letty explained that Mr. Romaine and the -Chessinghams preferred their meals in their rooms, and the Colonel -proposed the same thing to her, but she objected, first, because she -liked the liveliness of the public dining-room, and secondly, because -it cost more, and she didn’t believe in spending money to make one’s -self lonely and uncomfortable, which could generally be done for -nothing. - -Presently the Colonel reappeared, and was delighted to see Farebrother, -whose arrival did not surprise him in the least. Farebrother, who was -astute, immediately made a series of engagements with the Colonel and -Miss Jemima and Letty for a drive in Central Park, a visit to the -opera, and various other festivities, strictly limited to a party of -four, from which he intended Sir Archy should be conspicuously left out. - -When breakfast was over, and Letty had gone to prepare for the drive, -she met Sir Archy as she was coming down the stairs, putting on her -gloves. - -“Are you going out?” he asked. “I had my breakfast in my room, and took -a spin around the park before nine o’clock.” - -“I am going to the park now. Mr. Farebrother takes us. He came down -last night, on the late train.” - -Sir Archy looked rather black at this. Of course Farebrother’s arrival -could mean but one thing--he had Letty’s encouragement to come. Letty, -however, was anxious to disclaim all responsibility for his presence -in New York. This only puzzled Sir Archy the more. He was not up in the -subtility of American flirtations, and regarded Letty’s way of playing -off as a grave infraction of the moral code. Something of this he -hinted to her. At this Letty’s gay laughter pealed out. - -“Why, don’t you suppose that American men know how to take care of -themselves?” she cried. - -“They ought to--they have opportunities enough to learn,” answered Sir -Archy, grimly. - -But then Letty heard the Colonel’s voice, and tripped down the steps, -leaving Sir Archy moodily chewing his mustache, and wondering at the -depravity of American girls. - -The day was bright and beautiful, and there was an autumn crispness -in the blue air. Letty leaned back in her own corner of the big easy -landau, shading her pretty, thoughtful face with her red parasol. She -had on a little black gown, and a large black hat, which suited well -her dainty type. Farebrother thought so, sitting opposite her, and -watching the look of calm delight in her eyes as they drove along the -leafy roads, and stopped in the bosky dells of the park. - -There were not many people out--the “carriage people” had not yet -returned to town, and there was a charming air of peace and quiet -over the scene. The leaves were beginning to turn, and the caretakers -were busy gathering up piles of those that had dropped. Occasionally -the carriage stopped in the shade, and the voices of the little party -fell in unison with the faint rustling of the leaves and the sylvan -stillness. Sometimes they could almost forget that they were near the -throbbing heart of a mighty city. - -At one part of the drive, in the very loneliest spot they had yet seen, -Farebrother proposed to Letty to get out and take a little stroll. -Letty agreed very promptly, and the Colonel and Miss Jemima concluded -they would stay where they were. So Letty and her friend strolled away -down to the banks of a little stream, where the dry leaves of the -young trees rustled to the whispering of the wind. It was high noon -then, but so retired was this spot that the glare was utterly shut -out. Whenever Letty found herself alone with Farebrother she felt a -very acute sympathy between them. She felt this now, more than usual. -Farebrother did not make love to her in the least with seriousness. -Indeed, he had never done so, and his most suggestive compliments -were paid when they were laughing and joking most familiarly. When -they were alone, his tone was one of tender friendship and respect, -which was very captivating to Letty. She was used to the overflowing -sentiment of Southern men, and the calm and sane admiration of a man -like Farebrother pleased her with its novelty, and flattered her by its -respect. - -They stood there a long time, Letty idly throwing pebbles into the -stream. They said but little, and that in the low tone to which the -voice naturally drops in the woods, and presently, a silence that was -full of sweet companionship fell between them. They might have stayed -there all day, so charming was it, had not Letty suddenly remembered -herself. - -“Oh, we must be going,” she said. - -“Yes,” answered Farebrother, with a little sigh, “we must be going.” - -When they caught sight of the carriage, the Colonel was just about -getting out in order to go in search of them. Letty’s face grew -scarlet, and she was unusually silent on their way home and wished she -had not stayed so long alone with Farebrother. - -Farebrother had arranged to take the Colonel and Letty to the theater -that evening; Miss Jemima had declined. Letty spent the afternoon in -her room, resting. At dinner she came out radiant in a white gown, -a charming white hat, with white fan and gloves. This, she fondly -imagined, was the correct wear for the theater, in orchestra seats. -Farebrother had got those seats with a wary design. If he had taken a -box, Sir Archy might have found out where they were going, and it is -possible to pay visits in a box, and Farebrother determined to have -Letty free from the claims of any other man except the Colonel on that -one evening. He saw in a moment that Letty had got altogether the -wrong ideas about costume, but she looked so fresh and fair that, with -masculine indifference to conventionality, he was glad she had put on -her white gown. - -When dinner was over, and they were waiting in the reception-room -for their carriage, the Chessinghams, Ethel Maywood and Mr. Romaine -appeared, also bound for the theater, and for the same play that -Farebrother had selected. It was the first appearance of a celebrated -artist in a play new in this country, and Farebrother had given more -attention to the artist than the piece. It was the first meeting -of the whole party since they had parted on the boat that morning. -Mr. Romaine, when he found that they were all bound for the same -performance, grinned suggestively, and said to Farebrother: - -“May I ask if you have ever seen this piece?” - -“No,” answered Farebrother, “but I fancy it’s very good. It’s an -adaptation from the French, no doubt made over to suit American -audiences, which are the most prudish in the world.” - -Mr. Romaine indulged in one of his peculiar silent laughs. “It is -thoroughly French,” he remarked, slyly. - -This made Farebrother genuinely uncomfortable. He knew that not only -Letty knew little of the theater, but that she was super-sensitive as -to questions of propriety, and that this outrageous coquette would -not stand one equivocal word. And the Colonel was as prudish as she. -Farebrother would have hailed with delight then anything that would -have broken up his party, and wished that he had suggested the Eden -Musée. - -Nothing escaped Mr. Romaine’s brilliant black eyes. He took in at once -Letty’s white costume, and with malice aforethought, whispered to Miss -Maywood: - -“Pardon me, but is a white gown the correct thing for the theater, -except in a box, for I see our young friend is radiant to-night as -snow.” - -“No,” answered Ethel, very positively, “it is the worst possible form, -and if we were going in the same party, I should not hesitate to ask -Miss Corbin to wear something quieter. Otherwise we would all be made -conspicuous from her bad judgment.” - -Miss Maywood had on her darkest and severest tweed frock, and her most -uncompromising turban. Mr. Romaine, having got this much out of Miss -Maywood, proceeded to extract amusement from Miss Corbin. He went over -to her, and leaning down, whispered: - -“My dear young friend, I wish you had persuaded Miss Maywood into -wearing something more festive than her traveling gown on this -occasion. Because ladies wear their bonnets at the theater, that is -no reason why they should ransack their trunks for their oldest and -plainest gowns, too.” - -“I quite agree with you,” answered Letty, promptly, who was not -ill-pleased to be complimented at Ethel Maywood’s expense. “She looks -a regular guy. Of course if we were going together, I shouldn’t mind -giving her a delicate hint, because it would scarcely be kind of me to -carry off all the honors of costume on the occasion, and no doubt she -would be much obliged to me. But I really can’t interfere now.” - -Mr. Romaine went off chuckling, and the whole way to the theater he was -evidently in a state of suppressed amusement, which puzzled Ethel very -much. - -Arrived in their seats, which were near the other party, Letty settled -herself with an ecstatic air of enjoyment to hear the play. The -overture was unmixed delight. So was the first quarter of the first -act. But in about ten minutes “the fun began,” as Farebrother afterward -ruefully expressed it. The play was one of the larkiest descriptions of -larky French comedy. - -At the first _risqué_ situation, Farebrother, whose heart was in his -mouth, saw the Colonel’s eyes flash, and an angry dull red creep into -his fine old face. Letty was blissfully unconscious of the whole thing, -and remained so much longer than the Colonel. But when the curtain -came down on the first act, her cheeks were blazing, and she turned a -pair of indignant eyes full on Farebrother, who felt like a thief, a -sneak, and a liar. What made Letty blush never frightened her in the -least, but simply angered her, so that she was always able to take -care of herself. Farebrother, whose ruddy face was crimson, and who -struggled between a wild disposition to swear and to laugh, leaned over -toward the Colonel, and said in an agonized whisper, that Letty caught -distinctly: - -“For Heaven’s sake, Colonel, don’t think that I brought you knowingly -to see this thing. I had never seen it myself, and merely went by the -advertisement in the papers.” - -“Your intentions were no doubt good, my young friend,” replied the -Colonel, stiffly, “but you should exercise greater care in the -selection of plays to which you ask innocent young women.” - -At that, Farebrother would have been thankful if the floor had opened -and swallowed him up. But Letty had evidently heard his few words -of explanation, and they had mollified her. She felt sorry for Mr. -Farebrother, and pitied his chagrin. - -“Nevertheless, sir,” continued the Colonel, in a savage whisper, “if -this sort of thing continues, I shall deem it my duty to withdraw my -granddaughter.” - -Farebrother was in an agony, and looking around, he saw Mr. Romaine’s -bright eyes fixed on him gleaming with malicious amusement. Poor -Farebrother at that moment was truly to be pitied. But disaster -followed disaster, and worse ever seemed to remain behind. The second -act was simply outrageous, and Farebrother, although he had more than -the average masculine tolerance for _risqué_ and amusing plays, was -so disconcerted by the Colonel’s scowl and Letty’s discomfort that he -fixed his eyes on his program and studied it as if it were the most -fascinating composition he had ever read. Not so the Colonel. He kept -his attention closely upon the stage, and at one point which brought -down the house with roars of laughter and applause, the Colonel rose, -with a snort, and with a countenance like a thunder-cloud, offering -his arm to Letty, stalked down the main aisle of the theater, with -Farebrother, utterly crestfallen, following them. Not only was -Farebrother deeply annoyed at having brought his innocent Virginia -friends to such a play, but the absurdity of his own position and the -illimitable chaff he would have to put up with on account of it at the -club and at masculine dinners was a serious consideration with him. - -And there was no room for misunderstanding the reason of their -departure. The Colonel’s face was a study of virtuous indignation. -Letty was crimson, and her eyes persistently sought the floor, -particularly as they passed the Romaine party, while poor Farebrother’s -hangdog look was simply pitiable. He glanced woefully at Mr. Romaine -and Dr. Chessingham; both of them were grinning broadly, while a -particular chum of his, who had an end seat, actually winked and poked -a stick at him as he followed his friends out. - -In the carriage he laid his hand upon the knee of the Colonel, who had -maintained a terrible and portentous silence, and said, earnestly: - -“Pray, Colonel Corbin, forgive me for my mistake in taking you and Miss -Corbin there. Of course I didn’t dream that anything would be given -which would offend you, and I am more sorry than I can express.” - -The Colonel cleared his throat and responded: - -“I can well believe, my dear sir, that your mistake came from the head, -not the heart, and as such I fully condone it. But I could not allow my -granddaughter to remain and see and hear things that no young girl, or -any woman for that matter, should see or hear, and so I felt compelled -to take some decisive step. I am prodigiously concerned at treating -your hospitable intention to give us pleasure in this manner. But I ask -you, as a man of the world, what was I to do?” - -Farebrother restrained his inclination to haw-haw at the Colonel’s idea -of a man of the world, and accepted his view of the whole thing with -the most slavish submission. He whispered in Letty’s ear, though, as -they rattled over the cobblestones, “Forgive me,” to which Letty, after -a moment, whispered back, “I do.” - -As it was so early in the evening, Farebrother proposed Delmonico’s, -not having the courage to suggest any more theaters. They went, -therefore, and had a very jolly little supper, during which the -_entente cordiale_ was thoroughly restored, and the unlucky play -forgotten. On the whole the evening did not end badly for Farebrother. - -He remained in New York as long as the Corbins did, which was about -two weeks. He accompanied Letty on her shopping tours, aiding her -with his advice, which she usually took, and then bitterly reproached -him for afterward. When Mrs. Cary’s chair had been bought, and lavish -presents for Miss Jemima, the Colonel, Dad Davy and all the servants, -and an evening gown contracted for, Letty then quite unexpectedly -indulged in a full set of silver for her toilet table. This left her -without any money to buy the shoes, gloves, and fan for her evening -gown, but Letty consoled herself by saying: - -“Very probably I sha’n’t have a chance to wear it, anyhow, after we get -back to the country, and I couldn’t use white gloves and shoes and a -lace fan every day, and I can use a silver comb and brush, and look at -myself in a silver glass.” - -Ethel Maywood thought this very impractical of Letty, and Farebrother -laughed so uproariously that Letty was quite offended with him. But -she frankly acknowledged that she felt happier after her mind had been -relieved of the strain of spending so large a capital, than when she -was burdened with its responsibilities. The Colonel’s purchases were -very much after the same order. He bought a pair of carriage horses -which in Virginia he could have got for considerably less than he paid, -and he quite forgot that the rickety old carriage for which they were -intended was past praying for. He also bought a variety of ornamental -shrubs and plants for which the climate at Corbin Hall was totally -unsuited. He indulged himself in twelve dozen of port, which, with his -hotel bills, swallowed up the rest of his cash capital. - -Meanwhile, Sir Archy was by no means out of the running, and saw -almost as much of his cousins as Farebrother. But he became deeply -interested in New York, and went to work studying the great city with -a characteristic English thoroughness. Before the two weeks were over, -he knew more about the city government, taxation, rents, values, -commerce, museums, theaters, press, literature, and everything else, -than Farebrother did, who had lived there all his life. - -The night before the Corbins were to start for Virginia, Letty knocked -at the door of the Chessinghams’ sitting-room to say good-by. Ethel -Maywood opened the door for her. She was quite alone, and the two girls -seated themselves for a farewell chat. They did not like each other -one whit better than in the beginning, but neither had they infringed -the armed neutrality which existed between them. They knew that in the -country that winter they would be thrown together, and sensible people -do not quarrel in the country; they are too dependent on each other. - -“And I suppose I am to congratulate you,” said Ethel, with rather a -chill smile. - -“On what, pray?” asked Letty, putting the top of her slipper on the -fender, and clasping her hands around her knee in a graceful but -unconventional attitude. - -“Upon your engagement to Mr. Farebrother,” said Ethel, looking more -surprised than Letty. - -“But I am not engaged to Mr. Farebrother,” answered Letty, sitting up -very straight, “and he has not asked me to marry him.” - -“Oh, I am so sorry for you,” cried Ethel. “I would never have mentioned -it if I had known.” - -“Why are you sorry for me?” demanded Letty, her cheeks showing a danger -signal. - -“Because--because, dear, after a man has paid a girl the marked -attention for weeks that Mr. Farebrother has paid you, it is certainly -very bad treatment not to make an offer, and I should think your -grandpapa would bring Mr. Farebrother to terms.” - -Letty’s surprise was indescribable. She could only murmur confusedly: - -“Grandpapa--Mr. Farebrother to terms--bad treatment--what do you mean?” - -“Just what I say,” answered Ethel, tartly. “If a man devotes himself to -a girl, he has no right to withdraw without making her an offer, and -such conduct is considered highly dishonorable in England.” - -Rage and laughter struggled together in Letty’s breast, but laughter -triumphed. She lay back in her chair, and peal after peal of laughter -poured forth. Ethel Maywood thought Letty was losing her mind, until at -last she managed to gasp, between explosions of merriment, that things -were a little different in this country, and that neither she nor Mr. -Farebrother had incurred the slightest obligation toward each other by -their conduct. - -It was now the English girl’s turn to be surprised, and surprised she -was. In the midst of it Mr. Romaine came in upon one of his rare -visits. He demanded to know the meaning of Letty’s merriment, and -Letty, quite unable to keep so diverting a cat in the bag, could not -forbear letting it out. Mr. Romaine enjoyed it in his furtive, silent -manner. - -It found its way to Farebrother’s ears, who was as much amused as -anybody, and when he and Letty met a few hours afterward, each of them, -on catching the other’s eye, laughed unaccountably. - -The Romaine party was to follow later in the season, considerable -preparations being necessary for the house at Shrewsbury to be -inhabitable after forty years of solitude. Farebrother and Sir Archy -had both accepted the Colonel’s pressing invitations to pay a visit to -Corbin Hall in time for the shooting, and so the parting with Letty was -not for long. He and Sir Archy went with them to the station, and Letty -found her chair surrounded by piles of flowers, books, and everything -that custom permits a man to give to a girl. There was also a very -handsome bouquet with Mr. Romaine’s card. Letty penned a card of thanks -which Farebrother delivered to Mr. Romaine before Miss Maywood. Mr. -Romaine, with elaborate gallantry, placed it in his breast pocket, to -Miss Maywood’s evident discomfiture. - -Meanwhile the Corbins were speeding homeward on the Southern train. -Letty had enjoyed immensely her first view of the great, big, outside -world. - - - - -VI - - -November came, that sunny autumn month in lower Virginia, when the -changing woods glow in the mellow light, and a rich, blue haze envelops -the rolling uplands; when the earth lies calm and soft, wrapped in the -golden brightness of the day, or the cloudless splendor of the moonlit -night. The chirp of the partridge was heard abroad in the land, and -that was the sign for Farebrother’s arrival. An excursion down to -Virginia after partridges concealed a purpose on his part toward higher -game and a more exciting pursuit. - -One day, though, two or three weeks before Farebrother’s arrival, the -Colonel received a marked copy of a newspaper. It contained the notice -of the collapse of a bank in New York, in which the Farebrother family -were large stockholders. - -Then came a letter from Farebrother telling the whole story. By far -the bulk of their fortune was gone, but there was still enough left for -his mother and sisters to live comfortably. - -“As for myself,” he wrote, “without indulging in any cant or hypocrisy, -I can say that the loss of what might have been mine has great -compensations for me. I shall now be free to pursue my profession of -architecture, which I love with the greatest enthusiasm. Formerly I was -handicapped by being thought a rich man, and among my fellows in my -trade it was always against me that I took money which I did not need. -But now I am upon the same footing as the rest, and I shall have a -chance to pursue it, not as a _dilettante_, but as a working member of -a great profession. I have done some things that have been commended, -and I have got engagements already, although I have not yet opened an -office. But I have taken one in New York. So, although I suppose no man -ever lost money who did not regret it, I can say, with great sincerity, -that I know of no man who ever lost it to whom it was so slight a real -loss.” - -Letty and the Colonel both liked Farebrother’s letter; it was so -straightforward and manly. The Colonel, with masculine fatuity, had -suggested that Sir Archy and Farebrother should time their visit -together. The truth was he did not relish the idea of tramping over -meadows and through woods after partridges, nor did he think it -hospitable to let one of his guests go alone, but two of them could -get along very well, so he managed to ask them both at the same time. -Neither one liked the arrangement when he found it out, but neither -made any opposition. - -Farebrother could not quite fathom how Sir Archy and Letty stood toward -each other. Sir Archy had not indulged in any demonstrations toward -her, except those that were merely friendly. Judged from the American -point of view, his attentions were nothing. And to complicate matters, -his following the Corbins and the Romaine party to New York might be -understood as committing him as much to Miss Maywood as to Miss Corbin. -The Chessinghams, Miss Maywood, and even Sir Archy himself regarded -that New York trip as a very important and significant affair, and Sir -Archy, not forgetting his British caution in love affairs, had at first -congratulated himself that his motive might be supposed to be either -one of the girls. But upon further reflection he rather regretted this. -He knew that Letty attached not the slightest importance to anything a -man might say or do short of an actual proposal. - -But Ethel Maywood was different. She was of good family, accustomed -to all the restrictions of a young English girl, and Chessingham was -one of his best friends, so that it would be peculiarly awkward if his -conduct had given rise to hopes that never could be realized. - -There was no doubt in Sir Archy’s mind, though, that he preferred -Letty. He had heretofore felt, in all the slight fancies he had had for -girls, a need for the greatest circumspection, for he was a baronet -with a rent-roll, and as such distinctly an eligible. But whether Letty -would take him or not, he had not the remotest inkling. Sometimes he -reasoned that the mere fact she exempted him to a certain degree from -the outrageous coquetry she lavished on Farebrother might be a good -sign. Again, he felt himself hopelessly out of the race. As for Miss -Maywood, he had a half acknowledged feeling that if Letty did not take -him Ethel had the next best claim. Of course he knew she would marry -Mr. Romaine if he asked her. But this did not shock him, accustomed -as he was to the English idea that there is a grave, moral obligation -upon every girl to marry well if she can, without waiting for further -eventualities. - -The boat only came to the river landing twice a week, so that it -happened very naturally both Sir Archy and Farebrother stepped off the -steamer one November evening, and got into the rickety carriage drawn -by the two showy bobtailed horses bought in New York, over which Dad -Davy handled the ribbons. Dad Davy received the guests with effusion, -and apologized for the restlessness of the horses. - -“Dee ain’ used ter de ways o’ de quality yit. Quality folks’ horses -oughter know to stan’ still an’ do nuttin’; ole marse say dee warn’t -raise’ by no gent’mun, an’ dee k’yarn’ keep quiet like er gent’mun’s -kerridge hosses oughter.” - -The horses started off at a rattling pace, and the carriage bumped -along at such a lively rate over the country road that Sir Archy fully -expected to find himself landed flat on the ground. - -“I don’t believe this old trap will ever get us to Corbin Hall,” he -said to Farebrother. - -The two men were pleasant enough together, although each wished the -other back in New York. Farebrother inquired about Mr. Romaine, and Sir -Archy mentioned that the whole party would be down the next week. - -It was quite dusk when the ramshackly old coach rattled and banged up -to the door of Corbin Hall. The house looked exactly as it had on that -November night ten years before, when Sir Archy had made his entry -there. - -The hall door was wide open, and from it poured the ruddy glow of the -fire in the great drawing-room fireplace, and two candles sent a pale -ray into the darkness. The Colonel stood waiting to receive them, with -Letty and Miss Jemima in the background. When the two men alighted and -entered the house, the Colonel nearly sawed their arms off. - -“Delighted to see you, my dear young friends,” he cried, “and most -fortunate and agreeable for us all that you are here together.” - -The Colonel, in his simplicity, actually believed this. Miss Jemima’s -greeting and Letty’s was not less cordial, and each of the two men -would have felt perfectly satisfied under the circumstances but for -the presence of the other. - -The shabby, comfortable old library looked exactly as it had done ten -years before. The identical square of rag carpet was spread over the -handsome floor, polished by many decades of “dry rubbin’.” Everything -in the room that could shine by rubbing did so--for Africans were -plentiful still at Corbin Hall. The brass fender and fire dogs, the old -mahogany furniture, all shone like looking-glasses. - -Miss Letty regulated her conduct toward her two admirers with the -most artful impartiality, and both Sir Archy and Farebrother realized -promptly that their visit was to be a season of enjoyment, and not of -lovemaking--which last is too thorny a pursuit and too full of pangs -and apprehensions to be classed strictly under the head of pleasure. -Miss Jemima gave them a supper that was simply an epic in suppers--so -grand, so nobly proportioned, so sustained from beginning to end. -Afterward, sitting around the library fire, they had to hear a good -many of the Colonel’s stories, with Letty in a little low chair in -the corner, her hands demurely folded in her lap, and the fire-light -showing the milky whiteness of her throat and lights and shadows -in her hazel eyes. Letty was very silent--for, being a creature of -caprice, when she was not laughing and talking like a running brook, -she maintained a mysterious silence. One slender foot in a black -slipper showed from under the edge of her gown--the only sign of -coquetry about her--for no matter how much Puritanism in air and manner -Letty might affect, there was always one small circumstance--whether it -was her foot, her hand, or her hair, or the turn of her head,--in which -the natural and incorrigible flirt was revealed. The evening passed -quickly and pleasantly to all. The Colonel would not hear of a week -being the limit of their visit. Within a few days the Romaine party -would be at Shrewsbury, and then there would be a “reunion,” as the -Colonel expressed it. - -When Farebrother was consigned to his bed-room that night, with a huge -four-poster like a catafalque to sleep in, and a dressing-table with -a frilled dimity petticoat around it, and the inevitable wood-fire -roaring up the chimney, he abandoned himself to pleasing reflections, -as he smoked his last cigar. How pleasant, home-like, and comfortable -was everything! Nothing was too good to be used--and the prevailing -shabbiness seemed only a part of the comfort of it all. And Letty, like -all true women, was more charming in her own home than anywhere else in -the world. - -Sir Archy, in the corresponding bed-room across the hall, with a -corresponding catafalque, petticoated dressing-table, etc., likewise -indulged in retrospection before he went to bed. He was not so easy in -his mind--no man can be at peace who has two women in his thoughts. He -was very sorry the Romaine party were coming. He had not discriminated -enough in his attentions between Letty and Ethel Maywood, and the -feeling that he might be playing fast and loose with Ethel troubled and -annoyed him. But love with him was a much more prosaic and conventional -matter, though not less sincere, than with Farebrother, who had the -American disregard of consequences in affairs of the heart. - -Next morning was an ideal morning for shooting. A white haze lay over -the land, tempering the glory of the morning sun. The rime lay over -the fields just enough to help the scent of the dogs, and there was a -calm, chill stillness in the air that boded ill for partridges. - -The Colonel turned his two young friends over to the care of Tom -Battercake, and the trio started off accompanied by a good-sized -pack of pointers. Sir Archy had on the usual immaculate English rig -for shooting--immaculate in the mud and stains necessary for correct -shooting clothes. His gun, game-bag, and whole outfit were as complete -as if he had expected to be cast ashore on a desert island, with only -his trusty weapon to keep him from starvation. Farebrother’s gun, too, -was a gem--but in other respects he presented the makeshift appearance -of a man who likes sport, but does not affect it. His trousers, which -had belonged, not to a shooting-suit, originally, but had attended -first a morning wedding, were so shabby as to provoke Letty’s most -scathing sarcasm. His coat and hat were shocking, and altogether he -looked like a tramp in hard luck. Tom Battercake, much to Sir Archy’s -surprise, was provided with an ancient and rusty musket of the vintage -of 1840, with which he proposed to take a flyer occasionally. Sir -Archy privately expressed his surprise at this to Farebrother, who -laughed aloud. - -“That’s all right down here,” he said, still laughing. “There’s game -enough for everybody--even the darkeys.” - -Sir Archy could not quite comprehend this--but he reflected that not -much damage could be done by such a piece of ordnance as the old -musket. However, he soon changed his mind--for Tom, by hook or by -crook, managed to fill a gunny bag which he had concealed about his -person quite as soon as Sir Archy and Farebrother filled their bags, -and still he gave them all the best shots. Sir Archy’s wrath was -aroused by some of Tom’s unique methods--such as knocking a partridge -over with the long barrel of his musket as the bird was on the ground, -and various other unsportsmanlike but successful devices. But there -was no way of bringing Tom’s iniquities home to him, who evidently -considered the birds of the air were to be caught as freely as the -fishes of the sea. So Sir Archy soon relapsed into silent disgust. -He was a superb shot, but Tom Battercake fairly rivaled him, while -Farebrother was a bad third. After tramping about all the morning, -they sat down on the edge of the woods to eat the luncheon with which -Miss Jemima had provided them. While they were sitting on the ground, -Tom was noticed to be eying Sir Archy’s beautiful gun with an air of -longing. Presently he spoke up diffidently, scratching his wool. - -“Marse Archy--please, suh--ain’ you gwi’ lem me have one shot outen dat -ar muskit o’ yourn?” - -Sir Archy’s first impulse was to throw the gun at Tom’s woolly head, -but on reflection he merely scowled at him. Farebrother laughed. - -“There, you rascal,” he said, “you may take my gun, and don’t blow your -head off with it.” - -Sir Archy was paralyzed with astonishment--not so Tom, who dashed for -the gun and disappeared in the underbrush with Rattler, the dean of the -corps of pointers at Corbin Hall. In a little while a regular fusillade -was heard, and in half an hour Tom appeared with a string of partridges -on his shoulder, and a broad grin across his face. - -“Thankee, thankee, marster,” he said to Farebrother, returning the -gun. “Dat ar muskit o’ yourn cert’ny does shoot good. I ain’ never -shoot wid nuttin’ like her--an’ ef dis nigger had er gun like dat, -ketch him doin’ no mo’ wuk in bird time!” - -Sir Archy forbore comment, but he concluded that American sport, like -everything else American, was highly original and inexplicable. - -The week passed quickly enough. Every day, when the weather was fine, -they went out in the society of Tom Battercake. In the afternoon the -lively horses were hitched up to some of the mediæval vehicles at -Corbin Hall, and they took a drive through the rich, flat country, -Letty being usually of the party. She was surprisingly well behaved, -but Farebrother doubted if it was a genuine reform, and suspected truly -enough that it was only one of Letty’s protean disguises. When the week -was out the Colonel would not hear of their departure, and Sir Archy -promptly agreed to prolong his visit. Of course, when he decided to -stay, Farebrother could not have been driven away with a stick. At the -beginning of the second week Mr. Romaine, the Chessinghams and Miss -Maywood arrived at Shrewsbury. Within a day or two the Colonel and -Letty, and their two guests, set out one afternoon for Shrewsbury to -pay their first call. - -Instead of the picturesque shabbiness of Corbin Hall, Shrewsbury was in -perfect repair. It was a fine old country house, and when they drove up -to the door, it had an air of having been newly furbished up outside -and in that was extremely displeasing to the Colonel. - -“Romaine is an iconoclast, I see,” he remarked, fretfully. “He is -possessed with that modern devil of paint and varnish that is the ruin -of everything in these days. The place looks quite unlike itself.” - -“But doesn’t it look better than it ever did?” asked Letty, who would -have been glad to see some paint and varnish at Corbin Hall. This the -Colonel disdained to answer. - -They were ushered into a handsome and modernly furnished drawing-room -by Mr. Romaine’s own man, who wore a much injured expression at finding -himself in Virginia and the country to boot. Newport suited his taste -much better. The Colonel sniffed contemptuously at the Turkish rugs, -divans, ottomans, lamps, screens and bric-à-brac that had taken the -place of the ancient horsehair furniture. Letty looked around, consumed -with envy and longing. - -Presently Mr. Romaine appeared, followed by the Chessinghams and Ethel -Maywood, who was looking uncommonly handsome. As soon as greetings were -exchanged, the Colonel attacked Mr. Romaine about what he called his -“vandalism” in refurnishing his house. Mr. Romaine laughed his peculiar -low laugh. - -“Why, if I had let that old rubbish remain here, which had no -associations whatever, except that it was bought by my father’s -agent--a person of no taste whatever--I should have been constantly -reminded of the flight of time, a thing I should always like to forget.” - -“Life, my dear Romaine,” remarked the Colonel, solemnly, “is full of -reminders of the flight of time to persons of our advanced years, and -we have but a brief span in which to prepare for another world than -this sublunary sphere.” - -At this Mr. Romaine, excessively nettled, turned to Letty and began to -describe to her a very larky ballet he had witnessed in New York just -before leaving for Virginia. Letty, in her innocence, missed the point -of the story, which annoyed and amused Mr. Romaine. The Colonel by that -time was deep in conversation with gentle Gladys Chessingham, whom he -sincerely admired, and so did not catch Mr. Romaine’s remarks, of which -he would have strongly disapproved. - -Among the four young people--Farebrother, Letty, Sir Archy and Ethel -Maywood--a slight constraint existed. Each girl so resolutely believed -in the falsity of the other’s ideas where men were concerned that each -was on the alert to be shocked. Sir Archy was wondering if his friends, -the Chessinghams, were suspecting him of trifling with Ethel Maywood’s -feelings, and Farebrother was heartily wishing that Ethel would succeed -in landing the baronet in her net, and so leave Letty for himself. - -Nevertheless, they made talk naturally enough. Ethel was secretly -much disgusted with the country as she saw it. There were few of the -resources of English country life at hand, and as she had been educated -to depending upon a certain round of conventional amusements to kill -time, she was completely at a loss what to do without them. Reading -she regarded as a duty instead of a pleasure. But with the class -instincts of a well born English girl, she conceived it to be her duty -to say she liked the country at all times, and so protested in her -pretty, well-modulated voice. Sir Archy and Farebrother were temporary -resources, but no more. As for Sir Archy, she regarded him as much -more unattainable than he fancied himself to be. It would be too much -good luck to expect for her to return to England as Lady Corbin of Fox -Court, and so she dismissed the dazzling vision with a sigh, and made -up her mind to fly no higher than Mr. Romaine. Letty wondered how the -domestic machinery ran at Shrewsbury, with black servants picked up -here and there in the country--for the Shrewsbury negroes, having no -personal ties to the place, had scattered speedily after the war. Ethel -soon enlightened her. - -“Turner”--that was their maid--“is really excessively frightened at -the blacks. They grin at her so diabolically, and she can’t get rid of -the impression that all blacks are cannibals, and as for Dodson and -Bridge”--the two valets--“they do nothing but complain to Reggie, and -he says he expects them both to give warning before the month is out.” - -“I should think they would,” cried Letty, laughing, and realizing the -woes of two London flunkies in a domestic staff made up of Virginia -negroes. - -“None of them can read a written order,” continued Miss Maywood, -who usually avoided the bad form of talking about servants, but who -found present circumstances too overpowering for her. “The cook -seems an excellent old person, not devoid of intelligence, although -wholly without education--and as Reggie liked her way of preparing -an omelette, I sent for her to write down the recipe. She came in, -laughing as if it were the greatest joke in the world, called me -‘honey’ and ‘child,’ and I never could get out of her--although she -talked incessantly in her peculiar patois--what I really wished to -know.” - -This amused Sir Archy very much, who went on to relate his experiences -with Tom Battercake. - -But Mr. Romaine seemed to find Letty more than usually attractive, and -soon established himself by her with an air of proprietorship that -ran both Sir Archy and Farebrother out of the field altogether. He -put on his sweetest manner for her; his fine black eyes grew more and -more expressive, and he used upon her a great deal of adroit flattery -which was not without its effect. He gave her to understand that he -considered her quite a woman of the world. This never fails to please -an ingénue, while it is always wise to tell a woman of the world that -she is an ingénue. Letty really thought that her visit to Newport and -her week or two in New York had made another girl of her. So it had, -in one way. It had taught her a new manner of arranging her hair, and -several schemes of personal adornment, and she had seen a few pictures -and some artistic interiors. But Letty was a girl of robust and -well-formed character before she ever saw anything of the outside world -at all, and she was not easily swayed by any mere external influences; -but she was acutely sensitive to personal influences, and she felt -the individual magnetism of Mr. Romaine very strongly. Sometimes she -positively disliked him, and thought he affected to be young, although -nobody could say he was frivolous--and thought him hard and cynical and -generally unlovely. But to-day she found him peculiarly agreeable--he -artfully complimented her at every turn--he was unusually amusing in -his conversation, and in fact laid himself out to please with a power -that he possessed, but rarely exerted. He had seen in the beginning -that Letty was prejudiced against regarding him as a youngish man, -and this piqued him. He did not pretend, indeed, to be young, but he -decidedly objected to be shelved along with the Colonel and other -fossils--and as for Miss Jemima, who was a few months younger than -himself, he treated her as if she had been his great-grandmother. This, -however, did not disturb Miss Jemima’s placidity in the least. - -The visit was a long one, and it was quite dark before the ramshackly -carriage rattled out of the gate toward Corbin Hall. Mr. Romaine had -made them all promise to come again soon, and when they were out of -hearing, Letty expressed an admiration for him which filled Farebrother -with a sudden and excessive disgust. - - - - -VII - - -Sir Archy and Farebrother remained three weeks at Corbin Hall, and in -that time a great many things happened. - -There was constant intercourse between the two places, Corbin Hall and -Shrewsbury, which were only four miles apart. Neither of the young -men made anything of walking over to Shrewsbury for a little turn, -nor did the Chessinghams and Miss Maywood consider the walk to Corbin -Hall anything but a stroll. Not so Letty, who was no great walker, but -a famous rider. Nor did Mr. Romaine, who had a very stylish trap and -a well set-up iron-gray riding nag that speedily learned his way to -Corbin Hall. Mr. Romaine got to coming over with surprising frequency, -much to Miss Maywood’s disgust. The Colonel took all of Mr. Romaine’s -visits to himself, nor was Mr. Romaine ever able to convince him that -Letty was his objective point. As for Letty, she was a little amused -and a little annoyed and a little frightened at the attentions of her -elderly admirer. She did not know in the least how to treat him--and he -had so much acuteness and finesse, and subtlety of all sorts, that he -had the distinct advantage of her in spite of her native mother wit. -All her skill was in managing young men--a youngish old man was a type -she had never come across before--as, indeed, Mr. Romaine was, strictly -speaking, _sui generis_. He was never persistent--he paid short and -very entertaining visits. He made no bones of letting Miss Jemima see -that he regarded her as at least thirty years older than himself. Men -hug the fond delusion that they never grow old--women live in dread of -it--and men are the wiser. - -Ethel Maywood, though, was cruelly disappointed. She thought Mr. -Romaine was in love with Letty, and in spite of that vehement protest -Letty had made at their very first meeting, she did not for one instant -believe that Letty would refuse so much money. For Ethel’s part, she -sincerely respected and admired Mr. Romaine; she had got used to his -peculiarities, and had fully made up her mind to be a good wife to him -if Fate should be so kind as to give her a chance. And now, it was too -exasperating that Letty, whom she firmly believed could have either -Farebrother or Sir Archy, should rob her of her one opportunity. It -turned out though that Miss Maywood was mistaken, and Letty did not by -any means enjoy the monopoly with which she was credited. - -Chessingham, in consequence of the liberal salary paid him by Mr. -Romaine, had agreed to remain with him by the year--and, of course, Mr. -Romaine had nothing to do with Chessingham’s womankind, who elected to -stay, to which Mr. Romaine very willingly agreed. Still, the chance of -Miss Maywood being some day Mrs. Romaine was not without its effect -upon both the young doctor and his pretty wife. But shortly after their -arrival at Shrewsbury, they all became convinced that this hope was -vain. - -One stormy November day, when they had been in Virginia about a -fortnight, Mr. Romaine shut himself up in the library as he usually -did, and there he remained nearly all day, writing busily. It was too -disagreeable for him to go over to Corbin Hall, which he had done -with uncommon frequency. In fact, every time he went out to drive or -ride he either said or hinted that he was going over there--but he -did not always go. Mr. Romaine, who could pay like a prince for other -people, and who treated the Chessinghams magnificently as regards -money, delighted in sticking pins in the people he benefited--and it -must be acknowledged that much of his attention to Letty Corbin came -from a malicious pleasure he took in teasing Miss Maywood. After these -announcements as to where he was going, Mr. Romaine would go off, -generally on horseback, his back looking very young and trim, while his -face looked white and old and bloodless; but as often as not he turned -his horse’s head away from Corbin Hall as soon as he was out of sight -of his own windows. He would grin sardonically at the injured air Ethel -would wear upon these occasions. - -But on this day he saw no one, and went nowhere. About five o’clock, -when dusk had fallen, a message came. Mr. Romaine desired his -compliments to Miss Maywood and Mr. Chessingham, and would they come to -the library. - -The message surprised them both--nevertheless they went with alacrity. -Mr. Romaine was walking up and down the luxurious room with a -peculiarly cheerful smile, and his black eyes glowing. A single large -sheet of paper, closely written, lay on the library table. - -“Thank you for coming,” he said, in his sweetest tones to Ethel. “I -will detain you but a moment. I have been engaged in what is generally -a lugubrious performance--making my will. It is now done, and I desire -you and Chessingham to witness it.” - -It gave a slight shock to both of them. Chessingham had always found -Mr. Romaine firmly wedded to the idea that, although he was full of -diseases, he would never die. He made plans extending onward for -twenty, thirty, and even forty years, and although he was decidedly -a valetudinarian, he indicated the utmost contempt for his alleged -ailments when it came to a serious question. Miss Maywood felt that -all her hopes were dashed to the ground. A man who is thinking about -getting married does not make his will before that event. She paled a -little, but being a philosophic girl, and not being in love with Mr. -Romaine, she maintained her composure fairly well. “I wish to read it -to you,” said he, and then, placing a chair for Ethel, and toying with -his _pince-nez_, he continued, with a smile: - -“It may astonish you--wills generally do surprise people. But, after -all, mine will be found not so extraordinary. I make a few bequests, -and then I--make--Miss--Letty--Corbin--my--residuary--legatee.” - -Mr. Romaine said this very slowly, so as not to miss its dramatic -effect. He achieved all he wanted. Ethel flushed violently, and fell -back in her chair. Chessingham half rose and sat down again. None -of this was lost on Mr. Romaine, who could not wholly conceal his -enjoyment of it. He began, in his clear, well-modulated voice, to read -the will. It was just as he said. He gave a thousand dollars here, and -a thousand dollars there, he left Chessingham five hundred dollars to -buy a memento, and then Letty Corbin was to have the rest. - -“And now,” said he, gracefully handing a pen to Miss Maywood, “will you -kindly attest it?” - -In the midst of Chessingham’s natural disappointment and disgust, -he could scarcely refrain from laughing. The whole thing was so -characteristic of Mr. Romaine. Ethel felt like flinging the pen in his -face, but she was obliged to sign her name, biting her lips as she did -so, with vexation. Chessingham’s signature followed. Then both of them -went out, leaving Mr. Romaine apparently in a very jovial humor. - -As soon as they reached their own sitting-room, where Mrs. Chessingham -was waiting, devoured with curiosity, Ethel dissolved into tears of -anger and disappointment. - -“He has made a fool of me,” she sobbed, to Chessingham’s attempted -consolation. - -“Who is it that Mr. Romaine can’t make a fool of, when he tries?” asked -Chessingham, grimly. - -“I think,” said Mrs. Chessingham, who had much sound sense, “Mr. -Romaine acts the fool himself. He has a plenty of money, fairly good -health in spite of his imagination to the contrary, and a great deal -to make him happy. Instead of that, he is about as dissatisfied an old -creature as I ever knew.” - -“Right,” answered Chessingham, “and, Ethel, I am not at all sure that -you haven’t made a lucky miss.” - -“That may be,” said Ethel, drying her eyes, “but all the same, -everybody expected him to offer himself to me. When we left England it -was considered, you remember, by all the people we knew, that it was as -good as an engagement. And now--to have to go back--” here Ethel could -say no more. - -“And Letty Corbin--who, I believe, really dislikes him,” said Mrs. -Chessingham. - -“Don’t be too sure about Letty,” remarked Chessingham. “It’s just as -likely as not that he will make another will to-morrow. All this may -be simply to enliven the dulness of the country, and to give Ethel -warning that she is wasting her time. You notice, he exacted no promise -of us--he probably wants us to tell this at Corbin Hall. _I_ sha’n’t -oblige him, for one.” - -“Nor I,” added Ethel. “And one thing is certain, I shall go back to -England. I am missing all my winter visits by staying here, and I may -not be able to make a good arrangement for the season in town--so I -think I shall go.” - -Both Chessingham and his wife thought this a judicious thing. Ethel was -twenty-seven and had no time to lose, and she was clearly wasting it -buried in the country--or rather in the wilderness, as she considered -it. And, besides, the Chessinghams were fully convinced that Mr. -Romaine would not stay long at Shrewsbury. It was a mere freak in the -beginning, and they already detected signs of boredom in him. - -Within a few days Chessingham mentioned to him casually that Miss -Maywood would return to England at the first convenient opportunity. -Mr. Romaine received the news with a sardonic grin and many expressions -of civil regret. - -“My dear Miss Maywood,” he said, the next time he ran across her, -“you cannot imagine what a gap your absence will make to me. However, -since your decision is made, all I can do will be to provide as far as -possible for your comfort during your journey back to England. I will -even let Chessingham off to take you to New York, and every day, while -you are at sea, I will arrange that you shall have some reminder of -those that you have left behind in Virginia.” - -“Thank you,” stiffly responded the practical Ethel, who thought that -Mr. Romaine had behaved like a brute. - -The news of her impending departure was conveyed to Letty one afternoon -when the two girls were sitting comfortably over Letty’s bed-room -fire--for although there was still no love lost between them, they -found no difficulty in maintaining a feminine _entente cordiale_. Letty -was surprised and said so. - -“Of course,” said Ethel, who could not banish her injuries from her -mind, “it will be embarrassing to go back. Some malicious people will -say that Mr. Romaine has jilted me--but there is not a word of truth in -it.” - -“Certainly not,” cried Letty, energetically. “Who on earth would -believe that you would marry that old--pachyderm?” Letty hunted around -in her mind for an epithet to suit Mr. Romaine, but could think of -nothing better than the one she used. - -“I’m afraid plenty of people will believe it,” answered Ethel, with a -faint smile--and then the womanish incapacity to keep a secret that -is not bound by a promise made her tell Letty the very thing she had -declared she would not tell her. - -“It sounds rather ungrateful of you to talk that way, for Mr. Romaine -intends conferring a very great benefit--the greatest benefit--on you.” - -“What do you mean?” asked the surprised Letty. - -“Only this. A week or two ago he called Reggie and me into the library -one afternoon, and there lay his will on the library table--and he -asked us to act as witnesses and read us the will--and you are--” - -Ethel paused a moment. Letty was leaning forward deeply interested. - -“Did he leave me money for a pair of pearl bracelets?” she cried. - -“No. He made you his residuary legatee, after giving away a few -thousand dollars to other people,” answered Ethel. - -Letty was quick of wit, and took in at once what Ethel meant. Mr. -Romaine had left her his fortune. - -She grew a little pale and lay back in her chair. Her first feelings -were full of contradictions, as her emotions always were where Mr. -Romaine was concerned. Money was a delightful thing--she had found that -out--but Mr. Romaine’s money! And sometimes she hated Mr. Romaine, and -laughed at him behind his back--and now she would have to be very -attentive to him, and to let him see that she felt her obligations to -him. While this was passing through her mind in a chaotic way, she -suddenly remembered to ask: - -“Did Mr. Romaine authorize you to tell me this?” - -“Not exactly,” said Ethel. “But he said nothing about keeping it -secret, and Reggie says he is convinced Mr. Romaine wishes us to -mention it--for he is a very secretive man usually, and never omits any -precaution when he wishes a thing kept quiet.” - -Letty remained strangely still and silent. She was staggered by what -Ethel told her, and thoroughly puzzled--and she had a vague feeling -that Mr. Romaine had taken an unwarrantable liberty with her. - -“I think,” said Ethel, “that he wants to marry you, and he imagines -this will incline you to him.” - -“In that case,” replied Letty, rising with dignity, “Mr. Romaine makes -a very great mistake. Nothing on earth would induce me to marry him.” - -Ethel did not stay long after this, and Letty was left alone. - -Sir Archy and Farebrother had not yet returned from their day’s sport. -Letty knew that her grandfather would be likely to be sitting alone in -the library, and the impulse to tell him this strange and not wholly -pleasing thing took hold of her. She ran down-stairs rapidly, opened -the door, and there, in the dusky afternoon, dozing before the fire, -was the Colonel, with a volume of Goldsmith open upon his knee. - -Letty went up to him and touched him gently. - -“Grandpapa,” she said. - -“I was not asleep, my dear,” answered the Colonel, very promptly, -without waiting for the accusation. - -“If you were,” said Letty, with nervous audacity, “what I’m about to -tell you will wake you up.” - -She hesitated for a moment, in order to convey the news in a guarded -and appropriate manner--and then, suddenly burst out with-- - -“Grandpapa--Mr. Romaine has made his will and left me nearly all his -money.” - -The Colonel fairly jumped from his chair. He thought Letty had lost her -mind. - -“He has, indeed,” she continued, in a half-stifled, half-laughing -voice. “He read his will to Ethel Maywood and Mr. Chessingham, and got -them to sign it as witnesses.” - -The Colonel could do nothing but gasp for a few moments. Then he lapsed -into an amazed silence--his shaggy brows drawn together, and his -deep-set eyes fixed on Letty’s agitated face. - -“And there is something else Ethel Maywood said,” kept on Letty, with -her face growing scarlet, “something that made me very angry with Mr. -Romaine, and I don’t like him, anyhow,” she said. - -“Go on,” commanded the Colonel, in a tragic basso. - -“She thinks--that--that--Mr. Romaine wants to m-m-marry me--and he -fancies this will win me over,” said Letty, faintly. - -“The old ass!” bawled the Colonel, for once roused out of his placid -dignity. “Excuse me, my love, but this is simply too preposterous! When -you first spoke, I assure you, I was alarmed--I was actually alarmed--I -thought you did not know what you were saying. But, on reflection, -knowing, as I do, Romaine’s perverse and peculiar character, I can -wholly believe what you tell me.” - -The Colonel paused a moment, and then the same idea that occurred to -Chessingham came to him. - -“And the making of a will doesn’t mean the enjoyment of the property, -my love. Romaine may have a passion for making wills--some rich men -have--and this may be one of a dozen he may make.” - -Letty said nothing. Money was the greatest good fortune in the eyes -of the world--but the scheme devised for her eventual enrichment had -serious drawbacks. Mr. Romaine might live for twenty years--even -Mr. Chessingham himself did not know precisely what were the old -gentleman’s real maladies, and what were his imaginary ones--and that -would mean twenty years of subservience on her part toward a man for -whom she now felt a positive repulsion. She caught herself wishing that -Mr. Romaine would die soon--and was frightened and ashamed of herself. -And now Mr. Romaine’s relatives would hate her! - -“All of the Romaine people will hate me,” she said, with pale lips, -to the Colonel--they were both standing up now before the fire, and -although the ruddy blaze made the room quite light, it was dark -outside. - -“Yes,” answered the Colonel, gloomily, “and they may claim undue -influence on your part, and then there may be a lawsuit and the devil -to pay generally. Excuse my language, my dear.” - -The Colonel was completely shaken out of his usual composure, and -expressed himself in what he was wont to call--“the vulgar--the -excessively vulgar tongue.” “I foresee a peck of trouble ahead,” he -continued. - -“One thing is certain,” said Letty, raising her eyes, “I feel that I -hate Mr. Romaine--and with that feeling, I ought not in any event to -take his money. And if, as you say, he is merely amusing himself at my -expense, and trying to annoy his family, and--and--Ethel Maywood and -the Chessinghams, I hate him worse than ever.” - -“If such is your feeling, you undoubtedly should protest against -Romaine’s action.” - -Then there was a commotion in the hall. Farebrother and Sir Archy and -Tom Battercake had got home, and there was a rattle of guns on the -rack, and Tom Battercake was guffawing over the contents of the game -bags. - -Both Letty and the Colonel had plenty of self-possession, and no one -during the evening would have suspected that anything out of the common -had occurred. But Letty went to bed early and lay awake half the night, -while her dislike for Mr. Romaine grew like Jonah’s gourd. - -Next morning, as soon as the coast was clear, the Colonel sent for -Letty into the library. - -“I want to say to you, my love,” he began at once, “that I believe -this thing that Romaine has done is not done in good faith. He is the -sort of man to leave his property to perpetuate his name in a library -or something of that kind. And, moreover, if he should even be in -good faith, his relations are not the people to let so much money go -to a comparative stranger without a struggle. They have been looking -to him now, for two generations, to set them on their feet, and they -will be infuriated with you. And they will have just cause--for, after -reflection, I am convinced that grave injustice will be done if this -money comes to you. Then, your personal dislike--” - - -“Personal dislike! say personal hatred; for I assure you I have felt -something more than mere dislike ever since I heard of this. Queer, -isn’t it?” - -“Not at all,” replied the Colonel, with the ghost of a smile. “Your -amiable sex is subject to aberrations of that description. However, I -think, on the whole, that nothing but trouble will result if this plan -of Romaine’s is carried out--and I would be glad to see it prevented.” - -The Colonel had no more idea of the practical value of money than a -baby. Nor had Letty much more--and besides, she had youth and beauty -and _esprit_, and so had managed to get on very well so far without a -fortune. The Colonel’s views decided her. - -“Then, grandpapa, the best thing to do seems to me to be the most -direct and straightforward thing. Write to Mr. Romaine and tell him -frankly what we have heard, and say that I prefer not to incur the -obligation he would lay upon me.” - -“Precisely what I desired you to say,” replied the Colonel, highly -gratified. - -It required both of them to compose the letter to Mr. Romaine, but at -last it was finished, copied off in the Colonel’s best clerk-like hand -with a quill pen, and sealed with his large and flamboyant seal. This -was the letter: - - CORBIN HALL, November 21, 18-- - - MY DEAR ROMAINE: - - Circumstances of a peculiar character necessitate this communication - on my part, and I am constrained to approach you in regard to a - subject on which otherwise I would observe the most punctilious - reticence. This refers to certain testamentary intentions on your - part concerning my granddaughter, which she and I have heard - through direct and responsible sources. Many reasons influence my - granddaughter in desiring me to say to you, that with the keenest - sense of the good will on your part toward her, and with assurances - of the most profound consideration, she feels compelled to decline - absolutely the measures you have devised for her benefit. Of these - many reasons, I will give only one, but that, my dear Romaine, - will be conclusive. It would be a very flagrant wrong, I conceive, - to those of your own blood, who might justly expect to be the - beneficiaries of your bounty, to find themselves passed over in favor - of one who has not the slightest claim of any kind upon you. This - would place my granddaughter in a most painful position, and might - result in legal complications extremely embarrassing to a delicate - minded person of the gentler sex. She begs, therefore, through this - medium, that you will change your kind intentions toward her and - not bestow upon her that to which she apprehends others are better - entitled than herself. With renewed assurances of respect and regard, - believe me to be, my dear Romaine, - - Your friend and well-wisher, - - ARCHIBALD CORBIN. - -This, which both the Colonel and Letty thought a grand composition, was -despatched to Shrewsbury by Tom Battercake. Tom returned within an hour -or two, with a missive. The Colonel sent for Letty to the library to -read it. It was written with a fine pointed pen, upon delicately tinted -paper with a handsome crest. It ran thus: - - Nov. 21. - - DEAR CORBIN: - - You always were the most impractical man about money I ever knew. I - shall do as I please with my own. - - Yours truly, - - RICH. ROMAINE. - -“Most curt and unhandsome,” cried the Colonel, flushing angrily. “What -does he take me for? I shall at once express my sentiments in writing -regarding this extraordinary communication from Romaine.” - -“No, grandpapa,” cried Letty, who agreed with the Colonel in thinking -Mr. Romaine’s letter extremely impertinent, “I’ll answer it.” - -Once in a while Letty had her way, and this was one of the occasions. -She sat down at the library table, and, with the angry blood mantling -her face, dashed off the following to Mr. Romaine. - -“Just listen to this, if you please,” she cried, flourishing her pen in -dangerous proximity to the Colonel’s nose. “I think Mr. Romaine will -find that he has got a Roland for his Oliver.” - -Then, in a melodramatic voice, she read: - - MY DEAR MR. ROMAINE: - - As you say, you have a right to do as you please with your own. This - personal liberty pertaining to you likewise pertains to me--and - I decline positively to be benefited against my will. I will not - have your money. Pardon me if I have copied your own brevity and - positiveness in settling this question. I am, - - Very truly yours, - - LETTY CORBIN. - -The Colonel chuckled over this letter; nevertheless it was against his -code to send it, but Letty was firm, and Tom Battercake was despatched -for the second time that day to Shrewsbury, with an important -communication. - -Letty was radiant with triumph. It was no mean victory to achieve over -Mr. Romaine. - -“And if he reads between the lines he will see that he won’t be here -with those sharp black eyes and that cackling laugh of his when it -comes to disposing of his property,” she gleefully remarked to the -Colonel. - -But her triumph only lasted until Tom Battercake’s return. He brought -the following letter from Mr. Romaine: - - MY DEAR MISS CORBIN: - - Your spirited and delightful letter has just been received. Permit - me to say that I have been so charmed with your disinterestedness - and freedom from that love of money which is the cancer of our age, - that it only determines me the more to allow my well-considered will - to stand. I need only make the alteration of leaving the property in - trust for you, so that it will be out of your power to dispose of - the principal, even to give it to my relatives--whom I particularly - do not desire to have it. All I ask is that you continue to me the - kindness you have always shown me. My ailments become daily more - complicated and acute, but still I possess great vitality, and I - would be deceiving you if I gave you to understand that you would not - have long to wait for your inheritance. But whether you treat me well - or ill, it and myself are both - - Forever yours, - - RICH. ROMAINE. - -At the conclusion of the reading of this letter Letty sat down and -cried as if her heart would break, from pure spite and chagrin at Mr. -Romaine’s “outrageous behavior,” as she and the Colonel agreed in -calling it. - - - - -VIII - - -Mr. Romaine had certainly succeeded perfectly in a pastime dear to -his heart--setting everybody by the ears. Colonel Corbin was deeply -offended with him, and made no secret of it. - -“For, if the time should come,” he said, with dignity, to Letty and -Miss Jemima, “that Romaine’s relations may accuse us of playing upon -Romaine and getting his money out of him, I desire to be able to prove -that we were not on terms with him. Therefore, I shall only treat him -with the merest civility. I shall certainly not go to Shrewsbury, and I -trust he will not come to Corbin Hall.” - -Futile hope! Mr. Romaine came twice as often as he had ever done -before, and the Colonel and Letty found it practically impossible -to freeze him out. Meanwhile, another complication came upon Letty, -who seemed destined to suffer all sorts of pains and penalties for -what are commonly counted the good things of life. She had privately -determined that it would take all her diplomatic powers to avert an -offer from both Sir Archy and Farebrother--for there was something -of “the fierceness of maidenhood” about her--and she was not yet -beyond the secret liking stage with Farebrother, whom she infinitely -preferred. But it dawned upon her gradually that Farebrother himself -was an adept in the art of walking the tight rope of flirtation. He -would talk to Letty in the rainy days, when he could not get out of -doors, by the hour, in such a way that Letty’s heart would be in her -mouth for fear the inevitable offer would come in spite of her. But -after a while she discovered that Farebrother could look down without -flinching from the dizzy height of sentimental badinage, and then -quietly walk away. In a little while these tactics of his bore fruit. -Letty, from being very much afraid that he would propose, began to be -very much piqued that he did not propose. Kindness was then lavished -upon him--sweet looks on the sly, and every encouragement was given -him to make a fool of himself, in order that Letty might be revenged -on him. But Farebrother declined to accept the invitation. He was -shrewd enough to see that Letty’s design in leading him on was simply -to throw him over--and he had no intention to be slaughtered to make a -coquette’s holiday. And he knew besides that Letty had a heart--that -she was a perfect specimen of the Southern type, which coquettes -with the whole world, only to make the most absolute surrender to -one man--and that her heart was not to be won by letting her make a -football of his. - -The two men watched each other stealthily, but Farebrother, in -quickness of resource, had much the advantage of Sir Archy. And he was -clear sighted enough to see that there was something wrong between -the Corbins and Mr. Romaine. All at once the Colonel and Letty ceased -going to Shrewsbury, and once when he suggested casually to Letty that -they ride over to see the Chessinghams and Miss Maywood, the Colonel -interfered, with a flush upon his wrinkled face. - -“I would prefer, my dear Farebrother,” he said, “that my granddaughter -should not go to Shrewsbury at present. Rest assured that my reason is -a good one--else I would not commit so grave a solecism toward a guest -in my house as to object to her going anywhere with you.” - -Farebrother was completely puzzled--the more so that the objection was -all on the Colonel’s side--for Mr. Romaine had been at Corbin Hall the -day before alone, and the day before that with Chessingham’s womankind. -He had noticed some slight constraint on Letty’s part, but the Colonel -had been absent both times. He said no more about going to Shrewsbury, -and privately resolved to go there no more except for a farewell -visit. This gave him distinctly the advantage over Sir Archy, whose -long intimacy and real friendship with Chessingham made it natural and -inevitable that he should go often to Shrewsbury. - -Letty, however, was no more capable of keeping an unpledged secret than -Ethel Maywood, and one afternoon, walking through the pine woods with -Farebrother, the whole story about Mr. Romaine and his will came out. - -Farebrother sat down on a fallen log and shouted with laughter. - -“The old imp!” he cried, and laughed the more. - -“Of course,” said Letty, laughing in spite of herself, “I really don’t -believe it is in earnest. Grandpapa says people who make their wills so -openly commonly have a passion for making wills, and he has no doubt -Mr. Romaine is merely doing this for some present object.” - -“Certainly,” cried Farebrother, laughing still. “It’s his own peculiar -Romainesque way of giving Miss Maywood warning. Pray pardon me for -hinting such a thing, but Miss Maywood herself has acted with such -delicious candor about the whole matter that it’s absurd to pretend -ignorance. Now what a devilish revenge the old Mephistopheles took!” - -Farebrother seemed so carried away by his enjoyment of Mr. Romaine’s -tactics in giving Miss Maywood the slip that Letty was quite offended -with him for his lack of interest in her side of the case. But at -last he condescended to be serious. It was a soft and lovely autumn -afternoon, the red sun slanting upon the straggling woods, and making -golden vistas through the trees. It was hushed and still. It had -rained that day, and the air was filled with the aromatic odor of -the dead, wet leaves. Farebrother had remained seated on the log to -have his laugh out, but Letty had got up and was standing over him -in an indignant attitude, one hand thrust in the pocket of her natty -jacket, while with the other she grasped firmly the brim of her large -black hat, under which her eyes shone with a peculiar, soft splendor. -Farebrother thought then that he had never seen her pale, piquant -beauty to greater advantage. - -“But if you could for one moment take your mind off Miss Maywood, and -consider my grievances,” said she, tartly. “Can you imagine anything -more odious? Here is Mr. Romaine pretending--for I don’t believe it’s -anything but that he is trying to make a fool of me--pretending, I -say, that he means to leave me a fortune some day--and he is just -perverse enough to ignore any objection I may make, not only to -his plans, but to himself--for I assure you, I really dislike him, -although I pity him, too. Then suppose he dies and does leave me the -money! You never heard of such tribes of poor relations as he has, in -your life, and all of them, as grandpapa says, have counted on Mr. -Romaine’s money for forty years. He has one niece--as poor as poverty, -with nine--shoeless--hatless--shabby children--who has actually -condescended to beg for help from him--and what do you think she will -say of me when the truth comes out? And there are whole regiments of -nephews--and cousins galore--and the entire family are what grandpapa -calls ‘litigious’--they’d rather go to law than not--oh, I can shut my -eyes and see the way these people will hound me for that money, that -after all should be theirs.” - -Farebrother was grave enough now. He rose and went and stood by her. - -“Money, my dear Miss Corbin, is like electricity or steam, or any other -great force--it is dangerous when it is unmanageable. However,” he -said, lightly, “as I’ve had to part with some lately, I’ve had to call -up all the old saws against it that I could think of.” - -“But I don’t believe you are very sorry about your money.” - -“Sorry? Then you don’t know me. I experienced the keenest regret when -I discovered that, according to my father’s will, I came out at the -little end of the horn in the event of disaster, because, as the dear -old gentleman said, I was well able to take care of myself. Of course -I said the handsome thing--when the crash came--especially to Colonel -Corbin, who would have kicked me out of his house if I hadn’t--but -I assure you I didn’t feel in spirits for a whole week after the -financial earthquake.” - -Letty looked at him smiling. She was not a bad judge of human nature -and much shrewder than she looked, and she read Farebrother like an -open book--and liked the volume. - -“But then, your profession?” - -“Oh, yes, my profession. Well, the first thing that cheered my -gloom was when I got a contract for an eight-story granite business -building. I met on the street that very day the fellow I told you of -once--a clever architect, but who has a wife and an army of children -on him, and who always looked at me reproachfully in the old days -when we met--and I had the satisfaction of telling him that it was -work or starvation with me now--and he spoke out the thought I had -read so often in his mind before--‘It’s all right now, but when I -saw you driving those thoroughbreds round the Park, in that imported -drag of yours, and heard of you buying the pick of the pictures at -the exhibition, while I had seven children to bring up and educate -on my earnings, it did seem deuced hard that you should enter -into competition with us poor devils.’ So I reminded him that the -thoroughbreds and the pictures and a few other things were going under -the hammer, and the wretch actually grinned. But I’ll tell you what I -have found out lately--that there’s such a thing as good fellowship in -the world. There isn’t any among rich men. They are all bent on amusing -themselves or being amused. They are so perfectly independent of each -other that there isn’t any room for sentiment--while among poorer men -they are all interdependent. They have to help each other along in -pleasures and work, and that sort of thing--and that’s why it is that -comradeship exists among them as it cannot exist among the rich.” - -“I never knew anything about money until that visit to Newport,” said -Letty, candidly. “We had bills--and when the wheat crop was sold it -paid the bills--that is, as far as it would go--for the wheat crop -never was quite as much as we expected, and the bills were always a -great deal more than we expected. But I found the spending of that -money in New York delightful.” - -“So did I,” answered Farebrother. “Never enjoyed anything more in my -life. You had more actual, substantial fun in spending that money than -my sisters have out of so many thousands.” - -“But I think,” remarked the astute Letty, “that it is more the way we -show it. Your sisters are used to money--” - -“That’s it--and so it is as necessary to them as the air we -breathe--but as we breathe air all the time, we are not conscious of -any ecstatic bliss in doing it.” - -“Perhaps--but, you see, I am bent on enjoyment, and I am bent on -showing it as well as feeling it.” - -“In short, you are a very wise girl,” said Farebrother, smiling, “and -I think it is a pity that you are so determined on never bestowing so -much wisdom and cheerfulness on some man or other.” - -“I have never said I wouldn’t.” - -“Oh, not in words perhaps, but I imagine a fixed determination on your -part to hold on to your liberty. You may, however, succumb to the -charms of Sir Archy Corbin, of Fox Court.” - -Farebrother emphasized the “Sir” and the “Fox Court” in a way that -Letty thought disagreeable--and how dared he talk so coolly of her -marrying Sir Archy, without one single qualifying word of regret? And -just as Farebrother intended, his suggestion did not help her to regard -Sir Archy with any increase of favor. - -“There he is now,” cried Farebrother, “shall I make off so as to give -him a chance?” - -Letty was so staggered by the novelty and iniquity of Farebrother’s -perfect willingness to give her up to Sir Archy that she could not -recover herself all at once--and the next thing, Sir Archy had tramped -through the underbush to them, looking wonderfully handsome and -stalwart in his knickerbockers and his glengarry pulled over his eyes. - -If Letty found that Farebrother was always joking and difficult to -reduce to seriousness, she could find no such fault with Sir Archy. He -was the literal and exact Briton, who took everything _au sérieux_, -and whose humor was of the broad and obvious kind that prevails in the -tight little island. He was as much puzzled by the status of affairs -between Letty and Farebrother as Ethel Maywood was--and could hardly -refrain sometimes from classing Letty as a flirt--a word that meant to -him everything base and dishonorable in womankind--for a flirt, from -his point of view, was a girl with a little money, who led younger -sons and rash young officers and helpless curates to believe that she -could be persuaded to marry one of them, and ended by hooking a mature -baronet, or an elder son, with a good landed property. - -Flirtation on the American plan, merely to pass away the time, and -with no ulterior object whatever, was altogether incomprehensible to -him. And Letty’s perfect self-possession! No tell-tale blush, but a -look of the most infantile innocence she wore, when she was caught -in the very act of taking a sentimental walk with a man! The genuine -American girl--not the imitation Anglo-American formed by transatlantic -travel--was a very queer lot, thought Sir Archy, gravely. - -“Where have you been?” asked Letty, with an air of authority, which she -alternated with the most charming submissiveness. - -“At Shrewsbury,” answered Sir Archy. - -“Ah, I know--we all know. There’s a magnet at Shrewsbury.” - -Now, to be chaffed about a girl, and particularly a girl like Miss -Maywood--to whom he had undeniably paid certain attentions, was both -novel and unpleasant to Sir Archy, so he only answered stiffly, “I -don’t quite understand your allusion.” - -“Why, Ethel Maywood, of course!” cried Letty. “Does anybody suppose -that you would go so often to see that wicked old man at Shrewsbury? or -Mrs. Chessingham and her husband?” - -“If you suppose that there is anything more than friendship between -Miss Maywood and myself, you are mistaken--and the suspicion would do -Miss Maywood great injustice,” said Sir Archy, with dignity. - -“Oh, if you think it would hurt Miss Maywood to have it supposed that -you are devoted to her--” - -“I did not intend to say that,” answered Sir Archy, who was neither -a liar nor a hypocrite, and who knew well enough how baronets with -unencumbered estates are valued matrimonially. “I only meant to state, -most emphatically, that there is nothing whatever between Miss Maywood -and myself--and justice requires--” - -“Justice--fudge!” cried Letty, with animation; “who ever heard of -justice between a man and a woman?” - -“I have,” answered Sir Archy, sententiously. - -“And next, you will be saying that women are bound by the same rules of -behavior as men,” continued Letty, with pretty but vicious emphasis. - -Farebrother looked on without taking any part in the scrimmage, and was -infinitely diverted. - -“I hardly think I understand you,” said Sir Archy, much puzzled. - -“I’ll explain then,” replied Letty. “I mean this; that a man should be -the soul of honor toward a woman--honorable to the point of telling -the most awful stories for her--and always taking the blame, and -never accusing her even if he catches her at the crookedest sort of -things--and giving her all the chicken livers, and the breast of duck, -and always pretending to believe her whether he does or not.” - -“And may I ask,” inquired Sir Archy, who took all this for chaff, -without crediting in the least the amount of sincerity Letty felt in -her code, “may I ask what is exacted of a woman in her treatment of -men, as a return for all this?” - -“Nothing whatever,” replied Letty, airily; “a man has no rights that a -woman is bound to respect--that is, in this glorious land.” - -“It strikes me that your rule would work very one-sidedly.” - -“It’s a bad rule that works both ways,” declared Letty, solemnly. - -Sir Archy did not believe a word of all this; but Farebrother thought -that Letty had not really over-stated her case very much. - -Presently they all turned round and walked home through the purple -twilight. The path led through the woods to the straggling edges of -the young growth of trees on the borders of a pasture, now brown and -bare. A few lean cattle browsed about--the Colonel spent a good deal -of time and money, as his fathers had done before him, in getting the -grass out of his fields, and raising fodder for his stock, instead of -letting the grass grow for them to fatten on--so they were very apt to -be lean for nine months in the year. The path led across the pasture -to the whitewashed fence that enclosed the lawn. A young moon trembled -in the opal sky. As they walked along in Indian file they felt their -feet sinking in the soft, rich earth. The old brick house, with its -clustering great trees, loomed large before them, and a ruddy light -from the library windows shone hospitably. The dogs ran yelping toward -them as they crossed the lawn, old Rattler giving subdued whines of -delight. The thoughts of both Sir Archy and Farebrother, all the way -home, had been how delicious that twilight walk would have been with -Letty, had only the other fellow been out of it. - -When they got in the house there were letters--the mail only came twice -a week, and Tom Battercake brought the letters and papers in a calico -bag from the postoffice, eight miles off. Farebrother read his letters -with a scowl. He had meant to stay a few days longer--in fact, he -determined to stay as long as Sir Archy, if he could--but he discovered -that he could not. - -“Business,” he said--“I am a working man, you know, and employers and -contractors won’t wait--so I shall have to take the boat to-morrow.” - -The Colonel and Miss Jemima were profuse in their regrets--Letty -was civil and Sir Archy was positively gay, when it was fixed that -Farebrother should go the next day. Still, the supper table was -cheerful. Farebrother had a very strong hope that Letty and Sir Archy -never would be able to understand each other enough to enter into a -matrimonial agreement; and then, he was determined to show Miss Letty -that he was by no means heartbroken at the prospect of leaving her. - -None of the men who had admired Letty Corbin understood her so well as -Farebrother. The others had paid her court, more or less sincere, but -Farebrother, when he became really interested in her, saw that such -tactics would never do. Instead, he made it his business to pique her, -so artfully that Letty was completely blind to the facts in the case, -and her determination was aroused to conquer this laughing, careless, -stiff-necked admirer, whose conduct to her was very like her conduct to -others. In the first place, the idea that he should come all the way -from New York, upon what seemed likely to turn out a purely platonic -errand, was, from her point of view, a most iniquitous proceeding. -She did not want any man--but she vehemently and innocently demanded -the homage of all. And when a man calmly retained his heart and his -reason, while she invited him to lose both, was in the highest degree -exasperating. But Farebrother absolutely declined presenting his head -to Letty on a charger, even when they were alone in the great cold -drawing-room, under the pretense of hearing some farewell waltzes from -Letty’s fingers, and it seemed almost unavoidable that he should say -something sentimental. He remained obstinately cheerful, and kept it up -until the last. - -He had to leave Corbin Hall at five o’clock in the morning, so Letty, -secretly much disgusted with him on account of his callousness, had -to say farewell the night before. The Colonel would be up the next -morning, and Miss Jemima, to give him breakfast, but Letty gave no hint -of any such intention. They had a very jolly evening in the library, -the Colonel being in great feather and telling some of his best stories -while he brewed the family punch bowl full of apple toddy. Miss Jemima, -too, had been induced by the most outrageous flattery on Farebrother’s -part to bring out her guitar, and to sing to them in a thin, sweet -voice some desperately sentimental songs of forty years before--“Oh -No, We Never Mention Her,” “When Stars are in the Quiet Skies,” and -“Ben Bolt.” It was very simple and primitive. The two men of the world -enjoyed it much more than many of the costliest evenings of their -lives, and neither one could remember anything quite like it. The life -at Corbin Hall was as simple and quaint as that of the poorest people -in the world--and yet more refined, more gently bred, than almost any -of the rich people in the world. - -At eleven o’clock, Letty rose to go. Farebrother lighted her candle -for her from those on the rickety hall table, and escorted her to the -foot of the stairs. It really did cost him an effort then to play the -cheerfully departing guest. There was no doubt that Letty had been -vastly improved by her touch with the outside world. She had learned -to dress herself, which she did not know before--and she had learned a -charming modesty concerning herself--and she was quite unspoiled. She -still thought Corbin Hall good enough for anybody in the world, and -although she admired satin damask chairs and sofas and art drapery, -she still cherished an affection for hair cloth and dimity curtains. -This ineradicable simplicity of character was what charmed Farebrother -most--she would always retain a delightful freshness, and she never -could become wholly sophisticated. - -“I can’t tell you how much I have enjoyed being here,” he said to her, -with hearty sincerity, as he stood at the foot of the stairs, looking -up at Letty. She held the candle a little above her head, and its -yellow circle of flame fell on her pure, pale face--for this young lady -who tried so hard to make fools of men, had the air, the face, and the -soul of a vestal. - -Letty nodded her head gravely. - -“Of course you have enjoyed yourself. We are such an--ahem--agreeable -family.” - -“I should say so! And to get into a community where people won’t even -talk about divorce--and where nobody chases the dollar very hard--and -where the dear Colonel is considered a very practical man--pray excuse -me, Miss Corbin, but I do think your grandfather the noblest old -innocent!” - -“I know it. Grandpapa _is_ innocent. So is Aunt Jemima. I am the only -worldling in the family.” - -“My dear young friend,--for you must allow me to address you as a -father after that astounding statement,--you are not, and never can be -worldly minded. You are a very clever girl--but it is the wisdom of the -dove, not of the serpent.” - -“Very graceful indeed. I thank you. You have a pretty wit when you -choose to exercise it. Now, good-by. I hope so much I shall, some time -or other, see--your sisters--again.” - -“Oh, hang my sisters! Don’t you want to see me again?” - -“Y-y-yes. A little. A very little.” But while saying this, her hand -softly returned Farebrother’s clasp. - -It was still dark next morning, when Letty slipped out of bed and ran -to the window, pulling aside the dimity curtains--she had heard the -old carriage rattling up to the door. The moon had gone down, but the -stars still shone in the blue black sky. Presently Farebrother came -out, accompanied by the Colonel. Letty could hear their voices, and saw -Farebrother take off his hat as he shook the Colonel’s hand. Then he -sprang into the carriage. Tom Battercake gave the restless horses a -cut with a long sapling with all the twigs cut off, and in two minutes -the rig had disappeared around the turn in the lane. Letty crept -back to bed, feeling as if something pleasant had suddenly dropped -out of her life. She determined to go to sleep again, and to sleep -as late as she could. There was no object in going down to breakfast -early--only Sir Archy would be there. Then she began to think about -Farebrother--and her last conscious thought was: “A man so hard to get -must be worth having.” - - - - -IX - - -Meanwhile, a period of convulsion was at hand for the happy family -at Shrewsbury. As soon as it was decided that Miss Maywood was to -return to England, a number of obstacles arose, as if by magic, to her -departure--and they were all inspired by Mr. Romaine. As she was to -cross alone he declared that she must do it only under the charge of a -certain captain--and when inquiries were made at the steamship office -in New York, it turned out that this particular captain had a leave of -absence on account of ill health, and would not command his ship again -until after Christmas. Mr. Romaine proposed to wait for this event, -if it did not occur until midsummer. Then some acquaintances were -discovered who intended sailing almost immediately, but Mr. Romaine -suddenly grew very ailing, and could not part with Mr. Chessingham to -take his sister-in-law to New York. Besides he found every imaginable -fault with the proposed traveling companions, and the Chessinghams -and Ethel felt that, after enjoying Mr. Romaine’s hospitality for so -long, they ought to defer to him as regarded the impending departure. -Therefore, although Miss Maywood had undoubtedly got her congé from -Mr. Romaine, she was still under his roof well on in December, and it -looked as if he would succeed in doing to her what Letty complained of -in her own case--making a fool of her. Ethel was really very anxious to -leave; but this reluctance to give her up on the part of her elderly -and eccentric friend made her wonder sometimes whether, after all, Mr. -Romaine would let her return to England without him. He openly declared -that he was tired of Virginia and meant to take a house in London for -the season; and he actually engaged, by correspondence, a charming -house at Prince’s Gate, from the first of April. Ethel felt that it -would be flying in the face of Providence to insist upon going, as long -as there was a chance of her presiding over the house in Prince’s Gate. -And the liberty and spending-money enjoyed by American women seemed -daily more pleasing to her. Whatever could be said against Mr. Romaine, -his worst enemy could not charge him with meanness. He gave with a -princely generosity that made Ethel--who thought that nobody got more -than three per cent. interest on money--think he was worth millions. -Sir Archy had gone away from Corbin Hall a few days after Farebrother -left, but was to return after Christmas; but Ethel put Sir Archy out of -her mind altogether--she was eminently reasonable, and never counted -upon the vaguely brilliant. - -The beginning of more serious upheavals was the announcement, one -day, from Bridge, Mr. Romaine’s own man, and Dodson, who was also Mr. -Romaine’s man, but waited on Mr. Chessingham, that they desired to -leave at the end of the month; and Carroll, the ladies’ maid, gave -simultaneous warning. - -“I ’ave been, sir, with Mr. Romaine for sixteen year, and I ’ave put -hup with ’im, and I could put hup with ’im for sixteen year more; but -this stoopid country and the willainous blacks is too much for me,” -Bridge announced to Chessingham, with an injured air. Dodson followed -suit, and Carroll tearfully explained that she ’ad been in mortial -terror ever since she first knew the blacks, for fear they would kill -and eat her. - -Chessingham was secretly much delighted with this, and confided his -feelings to his wife and Ethel. - -“It will take the old curmudgeon back to London quicker than anything -on earth that could have been devised,” he said. “He can’t get on -without Bridge--nobody else, I’m told, ever stayed with him more than -three months--and he’ll be forced to quit.” - -In the library a characteristic interview was taking place between -Bridge and his master. Bridge, feeling like a felon, announced his -determination to leave. - -“That’s quite satisfactory,” remarked Mr. Romaine, raising his black -eyes from his book. “I have been thinking for some time that I needed -a younger and more active man. I do not like men of any sort when they -become antiquated.” - -Bridge opened his mouth to speak, but dared not. He was at least twenty -years younger than Mr. Romaine, and there he was reproached with his -age! - -However, some faint stirring of the heart toward the man he had served -so long, and who had given him some kicks, but a good many ha’pence, -too, made him say hesitatingly: - -“Wot’s troublin’ me, sir, is how is you goin’ to be hattended to when -you’re hill; and how is you to get shaved, sir?” - -“As to my attendance when I am ill, that is a trifle; and shaving will -be unnecessary, as I have intended for some time past to turn out a -full beard,” promptly responded Mr. Romaine. “Now you may go. When you -are ready to leave come to me and I will give you a check.” - -The idea of Mr. Romaine in a full beard drove Bridge immediately -into the pantry, where he confided the news to Dodson, and they both -haw-hawed in company. - -Nevertheless, the loss of his man, who knew some secrets about his -health, was a very serious one to Mr. Romaine. Also, he had never -shaved or dressed himself in his life, and to him immaculateness of -attire was a necessity. He turned the ridiculous and embarrassing -question over in his mind--how was he to get shaved?--until it nearly -drove him to asking Bridge to reconsider his decision. But before -doing that, he went over to Corbin Hall one day, where a new solution -of the difficulty presented itself. - -It was a bright, wintry day in December when he was ushered into the -shabby library, where sat the Colonel. Now, although none of the family -from Corbin Hall had darkened the doors of Shrewsbury for a month past, -Mr. Romaine had calmly ignored this, and had treated the Colonel’s -studied standoffishness with the most exasperating nonchalance. Colonel -Corbin could not be actively rude to any one to have saved his own -life, and the extent of his resentment was shown merely in not visiting -Mr. Romaine, and receiving him with a stiffness that he found much more -difficult to maintain than Mr. Romaine did to endure. The struggle -between the Colonel’s natural and sonorous urbanity toward a guest -and his grave displeasure with Mr. Romaine was desperate; and Mr. -Romaine, seeing it with half an eye, enjoyed it hugely. The idea of -taking Colonel Corbin seriously was excessively ludicrous to him; and -the Colonel’s expectation of being taken seriously on all occasions he -thought the most diverting thing in the world. - -“How d’ye do, Corbin?” said Mr. Romaine, entering with a very jaunty -air. - -“Good-day, Mr. Romaine,” answered the Colonel, sternly--and then -suddenly and unexpectedly falling into his habitual tone, he continued, -grandiloquently: - -“Has your horse been put up, and may we have the satisfaction of -entertaining you at dinner?” - -“Oh, Lord, no,” answered Mr. Romaine, smiling; “I merely came over -to see how you and Miss Corbin were coming on--and to ask you a most -absurd question.” - -“My granddaughter is coming on very well. For myself, at my time of -life--and yours, too, I may say--there is but one thing to do--which -constitutes coming on well--and that is to prepare for the ferriage -over the dark river.” - -“I do not anticipate needing the services of the ferryman for a good -while yet, and my heirs, I apprehend, will have a long wait for their -inheritance,” snapped Mr. Romaine, who was always put in a bad humor -by any allusion to his age. Colonel Corbin, though, could not stand -Mr. Romaine’s hasty allusion to his heirs, and without saying a word, -turned away, and with a portentous frown began to stare out of the -window. - -Mr. Romaine, after a moment or two, cooled down and proceeded to make -amends in his own peculiar fashion for his remark. - -“Excuse me, Corbin, but you are so devilish persistent on the subject -of my age that I inadvertently used an illustration I should not have -done had I reflected for one instant whom I was addressing. But I take -it that no gentleman will hold another accountable for a few words -said in heat and under provocation. Remember, ‘an affront handsomely -acknowledged becomes an obligation.’” - -“Your acknowledgment, sir, was not what I should call a handsome one.” - -“Hang it, Corbin, we can’t quarrel. Here I am in trouble, and I have -come to you, as to my friend of forty years, to help me out.” - -It was always hard for the Colonel to maintain his anger, and Mr. -Romaine, when he said this, put on one of his characteristic appealing -looks, and spoke in his sweetest voice, and the Colonel could not help -relaxing a little. - -“I think you understand, Romaine, the attitude I feel compelled -to assume toward you; but--but--if you are really in unpleasant -circumstances--” - -“Deuced unpleasant, I assure you. I’ve had a man for sixteen -years--never knew him to make a mistake, to be off duty when required, -or to have any serious fault--and now he swears he can’t stand Virginia -any longer, and intends leaving me in the lurch. I can’t stand Virginia -much longer myself, but I don’t want the villain to know that his loss -is actually driving me back to England before my time. But the case is -this--I can’t shave myself. Does that black fellow of yours, David, -shave you?” - -“I always shave myself--but David understands the art of shaving, and -has practised it on guests upon various occasions, with much success.” - -“I wish you would send him over to Shrewsbury to-morrow. If I can’t get -a man by the time Bridge leaves--which will be next week--I might ride -over here every day, and, with your permission, make use of David’s -services until I can get a capable white man.” - -To say “No” was generally impossible to the Colonel, so he weakly -yielded. He would send David over on the next day. - -Mr. Romaine did not ask to see Letty, and went off after a short visit, -leaving the Colonel in a very bad humor indeed. - -Nevertheless, next day Dad Davy appeared and was introduced into Mr. -Romaine’s bed-room. Dad Davy was not only honored by being thought -capable of shaving Mr. Romaine, but he had brought his implements with -him in a rusty-looking rush basket. - -“You may know that I am about to dismiss my man; and I desired to find -out if I could get any sort of a barber, in case there might be delay -in the arrival of a man from New York that my agent will send me,” said -Mr. Romaine. He was sitting in a large chair, with a newspaper in his -hand, and wore a flowered silk dressing-gown, and evidently had not -been shaved. - -“Lord, yes, sir; I kin shave er gent’mun,” answered Dad Davy, with -visions of a silver quarter illuminating his imagination. “I done brung -some new shavin’ things wid me, and ef you wuz to let me git de hot -water, I kin trim yo’ face jes’ ez clean ez er b’iled onion.” - -“Very well; you may try your hand,” said Mr. Romaine, picking up his -paper. “There is the shaving-table.” - -Dad Davy tiptoed over to the shaving-table, and examined suspiciously -the silver toilet articles, the spirit-lamps, scented soaps, etc., etc. -Mr. Romaine, absorbed in his paper, presently heard Dad Davy, in an -apologetic tone, saying: - -“Marse Richard, I k’yarn do nuttin’ wid dem gorgeousome things. I got -some mighty good soap here, an’ a new shavin’-bresh; an’ ef you will -jes’ lem me took yo’ razor--” - -“All right,” answered Mr. Romaine, deep in his paper. - -In a few minutes Dad Davy remarked, “I’se ready,” and Mr. Romaine, -lying back in his chair, shut his eyes, while Dad Davy began the -lathering process. When it was about half done Mr. Romaine began -sniffing suspiciously, but he could not open his mouth. Dad Davy then -began with the razor, and a smoother or more luxurious shave Mr. -Romaine never had in his life. As soon as he could speak, he growled: - -“What infernal soap is that you’ve got there?” - -“Hi, Marse Richard,” answered Dad Davy, in a surprised voice. “I got -de bes’ kin’ o’ soap fur shavin’. Dis heah is de bes’ sort o’ _sof’_ -soap, made outen beef taller an’ ash lye--none o’ your consecrated lye, -but de drippin’s f’um er reg’lar lye gum, full o’ hick’ry ashes--an’ I -brung er go’d full.” - -Dad Davy produced a large gourd full of a molasses-like substance, -which he poked under Mr. Romaine’s high-bred nose. - -“Good heavens!” yelled Mr. Romaine, jumping up and seizing a towel with -much violence. - -“Now, Marse Richard, what you gwine on dat way fur? Sof’ soap is de -bes’ fur shavin’. Didn’t I gin you er easy shave?” - -“Yes, you did--but this villainous stuff--where’s your shaving-brush?” - -Dad Davy triumphantly produced a shaving-brush made mop-fashion by -tying a mass of cotton threads to a short wooden handle. - -“My ole ’oman made dis heah,” said Dad Davy, exhibiting this instrument -with great pride. “She make ’em fur ole Marse--and dis heah is er bran -new one--co’se I war n’ goin’ use no u’rr but a new one fur you, Marse -Richard--” - -Mr. Romaine looked in speechless disgust from Dad Davy to the rusty -basket, the “go’d” of soap, and the mop for a shaving-brush. But -without one word he sat down again, and Dad Davy finished the job in -perfect style. Just as he had got through, a tap came at the door, and -Bridge entered--and came very near dropping dead in his tracks at the -paraphernalia of the new barber. Mr. Romaine was saying affably: - -“A most satisfactory shave--the best I’ve had for years. I would -prefer, however, my own things next time. Give me the bay rum.” - -Dad Davy soused his client with bay rum, and then taking up the gourd, -mop, etc., put them in the basket, and stood, expectant of his quarter. - -“Here’s a dollar for you,” said Mr. Romaine; “and say to Colonel Corbin -I am much obliged for your visit to-day--and if I had as good a barber -as you I should not follow his plan of shaving himself.” - -Dad Davy, although secretly astounded at the magnificence of the gift, -disdained to show his delight before “po’ white trash,” as he regarded -Bridge, and making a profound bow, took himself and his basket off. - -Bridge, however, after the manner of his kind, seeing his master -independent of him, began to reflect that he had a good place and high -wages, and that if Mr. Romaine was a difficult master to serve, all -masters had their faults; and he finally concluded to stay. He went to -Mr. Romaine therefore a few days afterward, and with much shuffling, -hemming, and hawing, declared his willingness to remain, provided -Mr. Romaine went to England in April. At this Mr. Romaine expressed -much surprise, and declared that his return to England was quite -problematical and might never occur. Bridge, though, saw unmistakable -signs that Mr. Romaine’s latest freak had outworn itself, and at last -knuckled down completely--when he was restored to favor. Dodson then -followed the prevailing wind and asked to be reinstated; and Carroll, -the maid, being a diffident maiden of forty, declared she couldn’t -think of traveling alone from Virginia to New York; and so, with -the delays attending Miss Maywood’s departure, it looked as if the -Shrewsbury party would depart intact as when it came. - -But a disturbance greater than any that yet occurred was now impending, -and was brought about by the innocent agency of Colonel Corbin. - -One evening the Colonel had his two fine horses hitched up to a -two-wheeled chaise which had been resurrected from the loft of the -carriage-house during the emergencies of the war time, and started out -for the river landing for a parcel he expected by the boat. - -It was now past Christmas, and the “Christmas snow” had come, whitening -the ground. The Colonel’s position in the chaise was one calculated -to make a nervous person uneasy. The vehicle ran down on the horses’ -withers in the most uncomfortable way, and if the traces broke--and -they had several breaks in them, mended with twine--the Colonel would -be under the horses’ hind feet before he knew it. But Colonel Corbin -did not know what it was to be afraid of man or beast, and sat back -composedly in the chaise, bracing his feet against the low dashboard, -while the horses dashed along the slushy country road. The snow does -not last in Eastern Virginia, and it only made the road wet and -slippery to the most unsatisfactory degree. But over the fields and -woods it lay soft and unsoiled. The afternoon was gray, and a biting -east wind was blowing. - -The Colonel got to the landing in ample time, but it would be dusk -before the great river steamboat would arrive. Meanwhile, he went into -the little waiting-room, with its red-hot stove, and conversed amicably -with the wharfinger, a blacksmith, and two drummers, waiting to take -the boat “up the bay.” It was almost dark when a long, shrill whistle -resounded, and everybody jumped up, saying, “The boat!” A truck loaded -with boxes and freight of all sorts, and the drummers’ trunks, and -drawn by a patient mule, was started down the tramway on the wharf that -extended nearly four hundred yards into the river. The Colonel, like -most country gentlemen, liked to see what was to be seen, and walked -out on the wharf to watch the exciting spectacle of the boat making her -landing. - -The sky had darkened still more, and it looked as if more snow were -coming. The great, broad salt river, with its fierce tides and foaming -like the ocean that it was so near, was quite black, except for the -phosphorescent glare left in the steamer’s wake as she plowed her -way along, looking like a gigantic illuminated lantern with lights -blazing from one end of her to the other. At intervals her long, hoarse -whistle screamed over the waters, and presently, with much noise -and churning, she bumped against the wharf and was made fast. Her -gang-plank was thrown out, and a few passengers in the humbler walks -of life stepped off; but, in a moment, the captain himself appeared, -escorting a woman in a long fur cloak. The light from a lantern on -the wharf fell directly upon her, and as soon as the Colonel saw her, -he understood why she should have the captain’s escort. She was about -forty, apparently, and her abundant dark hair was slightly streaked -with gray. But there was not a line or a wrinkle in her clear, pale -face, and her eyes had the beauty of a girl of fifteen. There was -something peculiarly elegant in her whole air--the long seal-skin -mantle that enveloped her, the close black bonnet that she wore, her -immaculate gloves and shoes--Colonel Corbin at once recognized in her a -metropolitan. - -She remained talking with the captain for a few moments, until he was -obliged to leave. It took only a short while to discharge the small -amount of freight, and in five minutes the boat had lurched off, and -the noise of her churning wheels and the myriad lights from her saloons -were melting in the blackness where the river and night sky blent -together. - -The stranger looked around her with calm self-possession, and seemed -surprised at the loneliness of the landscape and the deserted look of -things around the little waiting-room and freight-house at the end of -the wharf. Colonel Corbin, imagining her the unexpectedly arrived guest -of some one in the county, advanced with a profound bow, and taking off -his hat in the cutting blast, said: - -“Madam, permit me to say that you seem to be a stranger and to have -no one to meet you. I am Colonel Corbin, and I should esteem it a -privilege to be of assistance to you.” - -“Thank you,” she answered, turning to him and speaking with a very -French accent, “I did not expect any one to meet me, but I thought -there would be a town--or a village at least, when I left the steamer. -I am foreign to this country--I am French, but I am accustomed to -traveling.” - -“Every word that you say, madam, is another claim upon me. A lady, -and alone in a strange country! Pray command my services. May I ask if -you are a visitor to any of the county families?--for in that event -everything would be very much simplified.” - -“Scarcely,” responded the stranger, with the ghost of a smile upon her -handsome face; “but I have traveled many thousand miles to have an -interview with Mr. Richard Romaine. Permit me to introduce myself--I am -Madame de Fonblanque.” - -The Colonel’s face was a study as Madame de Fonblanque continued, -calmly: “I should like first to go to a hotel--somewhere--and then I -could arrange to meet Mr. Romaine.” - -“But, madam, there is no hotel, except a country tavern at the Court -House, ten miles away. My residence, however, Corbin Hall, is only four -miles from here--and Mr. Romaine’s place, Shrewsbury, is also within -that distance; and if you would accept of my hospitality, and that of -my sister and my granddaughter, I should be most happy. I have here a -chaise and pair, and would feel honored if you would accept of their -service as well as mine.” - -Madame de Fonblanque then showed considerable knowledge of human -nature: for she at once agreed to trust the Colonel, although she had -never laid eyes on him before. - -“I think,” she said, after a slight pause, “that I shall be compelled -to accept of your kindness as frankly as you offer it. I will say at -once, that as I have come to demand an act of justice from Mr. Romaine, -he may not make any effort toward seeing me--and as he may do me that -act of justice, I must ask you to trust me for that. But the sooner I -see him the better. If, therefore, you would drive me at once to his -château--house--I could in a few moments discern his intentions. The -boat, I understand, passes here daily before the sun rises--and I could -leave to-morrow morning.” - -The simplicity and directness of Madame de Fonblanque’s language -prepossessed the Colonel still more in her favor. But at the -proposition to go to Shrewsbury he winced a little. However, there -was no help for it--he had offered to befriend her, and he stood -unflinchingly to his word. - -“Then, madam,” said the Colonel, bowing, “it shall be my privilege -to drive you to Shrewsbury, Mr. Romaine’s residence--and from there -to my own place, where my sister and granddaughter will be happy to -entertain you as long as you find it agreeable to remain with us.” - -“I thank you a thousand times,” replied Madame de Fonblanque. “I have -never met with greater kindness, and you have the gratitude of a -woman and a stranger, whom you have relieved from a most inconvenient -predicament.” - -The Colonel then offered her his arm, and together they traversed the -long wharf in the descending night, while a wild east wind raved about -them and made the black water seethe below them. There was not much -talking in the teeth of such a wind, but when Madame de Fonblanque was -seated in the chaise with the lap-robes tucked around her, and the -horses were making good time along the soggy road, she told all that -was necessary about herself. She was the widow of an army officer, and -since her widowhood had spent much time in traveling. She had come to -this country to see Mr. Romaine on a matter which she frankly declared -was chiefly one of money; and she desired a personal interview with him -before taking legal steps. She had had a maid with her, but the woman, -having found an unexpected opportunity of going back to France, had -basely left her only the day before. - -“And so, as I am a soldier’s daughter and a soldier’s widow,” she -said, with a smile, “I thought, ‘What can harm one in this chivalrous -country? I will go alone. I will take enough money with me’--I was -careful not to take too much--‘and I will simply find out the quickest -way to reach Mr. Romaine, and see him; and then I will return to New -York, where I have friends.’” - -“A very courageous thing for a lady to do, madam,” replied the Colonel, -gallantly. “But I think you will find, particularly in the State of -Virginia, that a woman’s weakness is her strength. Every Virginia -gentleman is the protector of a defenseless woman.” - -Madame de Fonblanque smiled prettily, showing very white teeth. She -did not quite understand the Colonel’s allusion to Virginia gentlemen -especially, but having great tact, she appeared to comprehend it -perfectly. - -“But do not think for a moment,” she said, “that I would bestow my -confidence upon all men as I have bestowed it on you. The supreme -honesty of your character was perfectly visible to me the instant you -addressed me. I have seen much of the world, and I am no bad reader of -character, and I trusted you from the moment I saw you.” - -The Colonel took off his hat, and bowed so low that the chaise, at -that moment giving a lurch, nearly pitched him head foremost under his -horses’ heels. Madame de Fonblanque uttered a little scream. - -“I always was so nervous about horses,” she said; “although both my -father and my husband were in the Lancers, they never could induce me -to ride.” - -Then she began asking some questions about Mr. Romaine, which showed -that she had a very clear knowledge of his character. - -“And is the English mees there still?” she inquired, with a slight -smile. - -“Yes; but I understand that she has been desirous to leave for some -time,” answered the Colonel. - -“Mr. Romaine is a very extraordinary man,” continued Madame de -Fonblanque, after a pause. “I have known him for a long time, and I do -not think in all these years I have ever known him to do one thing in -the usual manner.” - -“I have known him, madam, many more years than you have--we were -boys together sixty years ago--and I must say your estimate of him is -correct. Yet Romaine is not without his virtues.” - -“Quite true,” replied Madame de Fonblanque, composedly. “He can be the -most generous of men--but I do not think he knows what justice is.” - -“Precisely--precisely, madam. After Romaine has spoiled a life, or -has used the power of his money most remorselessly, he will then turn -around and do the most generous and princely thing in the world. But I -should not like to be in his power.” - -“Nor I,” said Madame de Fonblanque, in a low voice. - -“At present,” continued the Colonel, “the relations between us are -somewhat strained. I am much vexed with him, and have shown it. But -Romaine, as you say, being totally unlike any created being, sees fit -to ignore it, and actually rides over and borrows my man David--a -worthy negro, of very inferior intellect, though--to shave him!” - -It did not take long to make the four miles to Shrewsbury, and -presently they dashed up to the door of the large, brightly lighted -house, and the Colonel rapped smartly on the door. There was a bell--an -innovation introduced by Mr. Romaine--but Colonel Corbin disdained to -use so modern and unheard-of an appliance. - -Dodson opened the door, and a flood of light from the fine -old-fashioned entrance hall poured out into the night. Colonel Corbin, -according to the Virginia custom, walked in, escorting Madame de -Fonblanque, without asking if any one was home--somebody was certain to -be at home and delighted to see visitors. - -Dodson was about to usher them politely in the drawing-room, when -Bridge suddenly appeared. To say that his hair stood on end when he -caught sight of Madame de Fonblanque is hardly putting it strong -enough. His jaw dropped, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He -recovered himself and ran and seized the knob of the drawing-room door. - -“Please,” he said, in a very positive tone, “Mr. Romaine hisn’t at -’ome.” - -“How do you know that, sir?” sternly demanded the Colonel, advancing on -Bridge, who still held on to the door-knob. - -“Because--because--I _knows_ he ain’t--to--that--’ere--pusson.” - -The Colonel, who was tall and strong, caught Bridge by the coat collar, -and, with clenched teeth, shook him up and down as a terrier shakes a -rat. - -“You insolent scoundrel,” he said, in a fierce basso, “I have a great -mind to throw you out of the door. Go this instant and tell your master -that Madame de Fonblanque and Colonel Corbin are here.” - -Bridge, nearly frightened out of his life, and black in the face, was -glad to escape. He made his way half across the hall to Mr. Romaine’s -study door, and then hesitated. Afraid as he was of the Colonel, -the idea of facing Mr. Romaine with such a message was still more -terrifying. The Colonel helped him to make up his mind by advancing and -giving him a well-directed kick on the shins which nearly threw him -into Mr. Romaine’s arms, as that individual unexpectedly opened the -door. - -Then there was a pause. - -Madame de Fonblanque had remained a silent spectator of the whole -scene, wearing a look of calm amusement. As soon as Mr. Romaine caught -sight of her, his pale face grew still more ashy, and his inscrutable -black eyes blazed with a still more somber splendor. Colonel Corbin, -quite unmoved by his little rencontre with “that infernal flunkey,” as -he described the worthy Bridge afterward, advanced and said, with his -most magnificent air: - -“Allow me, Romaine, to announce a lady with whom I imagine you to have -the honor of a previous acquaintance--Madame de Fonblanque.” - -“The devil I have!” replied Mr. Romaine. - - - - -X - - -Colonel Corbin could not kick his friend Romaine as he had done poor -Bridge--but he would have dearly liked to at that moment. - -Mr. Romaine, after glaring at Madame de Fonblanque, without the -slightest greeting, turned to the Colonel. - -“Corbin,” he said, “you always were and always will be the most -unsophisticated, impractical creature God ever made. The idea of your -taking up with this brazen adventuress and bringing her to my house!” - -“Hear me, sir,” responded the Colonel; “if you utter another -disparaging word respecting this lady, I will forget your age and -infirmities, and give you the most genteel walloping you ever had in -your life.” - -“It will be the first time you ever forgot my age and infirmities,” -coolly answered Mr. Romaine; and then turning to Madame de Fonblanque, -he said: - -“What do you want of me?” - -“You know very well what I want of you.” - -“You will never get it.” - -“I shall try, nevertheless. I wish to see you in private.” - -“Madam,” said the Colonel, “if you desire the protection of my -presence, you shall have it. I have not the slightest regard for -this--person--who so maligned you; and you see that physically I am -still worth a good deal.” - -“You are worth a good deal in every way,” replied Madame de Fonblanque -warmly. “Still, I will see Mr. Romaine alone; and when the interview is -over I will again throw myself upon your protection.” - -Mr. Romaine turned and led the way to his library, Madame de Fonblanque -following him. He closed the door, and stood waiting for her to speak. -He was in the greatest rage of his life, but he did not in the least -lose his self-possession. - -“Well?” he said, his face blazing with the intensity of his anger. - -“One hundred thousand francs,” responded Madame de Fonblanque, sweetly. - -They were standing in the middle of the floor, the soft light of the -fire and of a great lamp on the table falling upon them. - -“You have raised your price since we last met.” - -“Yes. I reckoned up the interest and added it. Besides, I really think -a woman who was disappointed in being made your wife needs a hundred -thousand francs to console her for your loss. Now, most men would not -be worth more than thirty or forty thousand.” - -Madame de Fonblanque spoke quite cheerfully and even gaily. She tapped -her pocket gracefully. - -“Here I have those letters of yours. They never leave me--particularly -the one proposing marriage, and the half dozen in which you call me -your dearest Athanaise and reproach me bitterly for not loving you -enough. Just imagine the hurricane of amusement they would cause if -read out in court with proper elocutionary effect.” - -Madame de Fonblanque laughed, and Mr. Romaine positively blushed. - -“What an infernal, infernal ass I was!” - -“Yes, I thought so, too,” responded the pretty and sprightly French -woman--“I have often noticed that people who can make fools of others, -invariably, at some time in their lives, make fools of themselves.” - -“I did,” answered Mr. Romaine, sententiously. “But I tell you, once for -all, not a penny will I pay.” - -“Ah, my dear M. Romaine, that is not for you to say. These -breach-of-promise cases sometimes turn out very badly for the -gentlemen. I can so easily prove my position, my respectability--the -way you pursued me from London to Brighton, from Brighton to -Folkestone, from Folkestone to Eastbourne--and these invaluable and -delightful letters. It will be a _cause célèbre_--that you may depend -upon. And what a figure you will cut! The New York papers will have a -column a day--the London papers two columns. By the way, I hear you -have leased a fine house at Prince’s Gate for the season. You will have -to give up that lease, my friend--you will not dare to show your face -in London this season, M. Romaine.” - -All this time Madame de Fonblanque had been laughing, as if it were a -very good joke; but she now became serious. - -“There is a tragic side to it,” she continued, going closer to Mr. -Romaine, and looking at him in a threatening way. “I know all about -that visit to Dr. Chambers. No matter how I found it out--I know -he passed sentence of death on you; and while this good, amiable -Chessingham is doctoring you for all sorts of imaginary aches and -pains, you have one constant ache and pain that he does not suspect, -because you have so carefully concealed it from him--and the slightest -annoyance or chagrin may be fatal to you. I know that you have tried -to persuade the good Chessingham that you have every disease in the -calendar of diseases--except the one that is killing you.” - -Mr. Romaine walked rather unsteadily to a chair and sat down, burying -his face in his hands. Madame de Fonblanque, after a moment, felt an -impulse of pity toward him. She went and touched him lightly. - -“You called me a brazen adventuress just now--and I acknowledge that -I am not engaged in a very high business, trying to make you pay me -for not keeping your word. But I feel sorry for you now. I dislike to -witness your unhappiness. Say you will pay me, and let me go.” - -“Never,” answered Mr. Romaine, looking up, with an unquenchable -determination in his eyes. - -“Very well, then,” answered Madame de Fonblanque, quietly; “you know -I am a very determined woman. I came here to see for myself what your -condition is. I shall go away to instruct my lawyers to bring suit -against you immediately. I may not get one hundred thousand francs in -money--but I will get a hundred thousand francs’ worth of revenge.” - -“It seems to me,” presently said Mr. Romaine, with a cynical smile on -his face, “your revenge will be two-edged.” - -“So is nearly all revenge. It’s a very ignoble thing to avenge one’s -self--few people can do it without sharing in the ignominy. But I -weighed the matter well before I made up my mind. French newspapers -take but little notice of what goes on outside of Paris. I have -influence enough to silence those that would say anything about it--and -I care not a sou for anybody or anything in this country or England. I -shall go back to Paris and say it was another Madame de Fonblanque.” - -Madame de Fonblanque, following Mr. Romaine’s example, seated herself, -and opened the long, rich cloak of fur she wore. She was certainly very -handsome, particularly when the heat of the room brought a slight flush -to her clear cheeks. - -“It is strange to me that a woman of your education and standing should -engage in this scheme of yours,” after a while said Mr. Romaine. - -“One hundred thousand francs,” responded Madame de Fonblanque. - -“You might have married well a dozen times if you had played your cards -right,” he continued. - -“One hundred thousand francs,” again said Madame de Fonblanque. - -“What are your plans of campaign, may I ask?” - -“To get one hundred thousand francs from you.” - -“That ridiculous old blunderbuss, Corbin! I suppose he has invited you -to take up your quarters at Corbin Hall, indefinitely, without knowing -any more about you than he does of the man in the moon.” - -“He has--the dear, innocent old gentleman--and I shall stay until I get -my one hundred thousand francs. But he shall not regret it. I know how -to appreciate kindness. I have met with so little. The man I loved--my -husband--squandered my _dot_, which I gave him, and it is on account of -my rash fondness for one man that it is now absolutely necessary for me -to have some money from another; and I intend to make every effort to -get a hundred thousand francs from you.” - -Mr. Romaine remained silent for a few minutes, considering a _coup_. -Then his usual sly smile appeared upon his countenance. When he spoke -his voice had more than its usual velvety softness. - -“Your efforts, Madame de Fonblanque, will not be necessary; for I -hereby declare to you my perfect willingness to marry you, and I shall -put it in writing.” - -It was now Madame de Fonblanque’s turn to be disconcerted. She fell -back in her chair and gazed dumbly at Mr. Romaine. Marry him! And as -she had laughed while Mr. Romaine had suffered, now he laughed wickedly -while she literally cowered at the prospect presented to her. - -“And as regards my sudden and speedy death, which you seem to -anticipate, it could not benefit you”--he leaned over and said -something to her in a low tone, which caused Madame de Fonblanque -to start--“so that you will have the satisfaction of enjoying my -money--such as I may choose to give you--as long as I live. But I warn -you--I am not an easy man to live with, nor would the circumstances of -our marriage render me more so. Ask Chessingham if I am easy to live -with, and he will tell you that I am not, even at my best. It would -not surprise me, in case our marriage took place, if you were to wish -yourself free again. You say you desire revenge. So would I--and I -would take it.” - -Madame de Fonblanque grew steadily paler as Mr. Romaine spoke. She -knew well enough the purgatory he was offering her. To marry him! Such -an idea had never dawned upon her. The conviction of his insincerity -had caused her coyness in the first instance which had stimulated Mr. -Romaine so much. It had really looked, in the beginning, as if he -would not succeed in the least in making a fool of this pretty French -widow. But he had finally succeeded at the cost of making a fool of -himself. However, it was now his turn to score--because it was plain -that Madame de Fonblanque was anything but enraptured at the notion of -marrying him. - -She caught sight of Mr. Romaine’s black eyes dancing in enjoyment of -her predicament. She rose and drew her fur cloak around her. - -“I will think it over, Mr. Romaine,” she said, calmly. - -“Pray do,” responded Mr. Romaine; “and I will write you a letter -to-morrow morning, making a specific offer to fulfil my promise, which -will make those cherished letters of yours worth considerably less than -the paper they are written on--and what a honeymoon we will have!” - -At this, Madame de Fonblanque positively shuddered, but she held her -head up bravely as Mr. Romaine opened the door politely for her, and -they discovered Colonel Corbin stalking up and down the hall alone. - -“Corbin,” said Mr. Romaine, blandly, “Madame de Fonblanque and I have -reached a perfectly satisfactory agreement.” - -“Sir,” replied the Colonel, glowering with wrath, “it must also be made -satisfactory to me. When I bring a lady to a house, she is under my -protection; and when she has the term ‘brazen adventuress’ applied to -her, simply because she has come to demand a mere act of justice--and I -know this to be a fact, because she has so informed me--I must insist -upon an apology from the person applying that term.” - -“Very well, then,” said Mr. Romaine, debonair and smiling. “I -apologize. Madame de Fonblanque is not a brazen adventuress--she is -merely a lady of great enterprise and assurance, and I wish you joy of -her acquaintance.” - -In Madame de Fonblanque’s breast there sprang up that desire that -is never wholly smothered in any human being--to appear well in the -presence of a person she respected. She did sincerely respect Colonel -Corbin, who had befriended her on that risky expedition, and it cut her -to the heart to be insulted before him. Her eyes filled with tears, and -she turned to him with trembling lips. - -“Do not mind what he says. He hates me because he has injured me, and -keeps me out of money that he ought to pay me.” - -“I do not mind him in the least, madam,” replied the Colonel, suavely. -“Mr. Romaine knows perfectly well my opinion of him. He keeps you out -of money he owes you, and insists upon forcing on my granddaughter -money that she does not want, and which will involve her in endless -trouble. I think that is quite characteristic of Romaine. Let us now -leave this inhospitable house.” - -Madame de Fonblanque took the arm the Colonel offered her, and walked -out of the hall without noticing Mr. Romaine’s courteous bow. - -The proposition made to Madame de Fonblanque was truly startling. -Almost anything on earth was better than marrying him--and what he -had whispered to her proved that she could not profit one penny by -his death. She would gladly have foregone that offer on paper for -some other letters she had in which he flatly refused to keep his -word, and which she had held over him _in terrorem_. She could not -determine in a moment what to do, but she was convinced that she could -not see Mr. Romaine again, and the matter would have to be settled -by correspondence. And then she felt the sooner she got away from -this place where she had been checkmated the better. When they were -traveling fast through the murky night toward Corbin Hall, she broached -the subject at once of her return in the morning. The Colonel declared -it depended upon the weather, which puzzled Madame de Fonblanque very -much until it was explained to her that it was a question of weather -whether the boat came or not. Sometimes, in that climate, the river -froze over, and then the river steamers stopped running until there was -a thaw--for ice-boats were unknown in that region. It was very cold, -and getting colder, and the Colonel was of the opinion that a freeze -was upon them, and no boat could get down the river that night. - -When they got to Corbin Hall, Madame de Fonblanque was extremely -nervous about the greeting she would get from the Colonel’s -womankind--but it was as cordial and unsuspicious as his had been. -The Colonel explained that Madame de Fonblanque had business with Mr. -Romaine, who had treated her like--Mr. Romaine; and Letty, as soon as -she found somebody with a community of prejudice against the master of -Shrewsbury, felt much drawn toward her. There was no doubt that Madame -de Fonblanque was a lady; and in the innocent and unworldly lives of -the ladies at Corbin Hall, the desperate shifts and devices to get -money of people with adventurous tendencies were altogether unknown and -unsuspected. Besides, people from a foreign country were very great -novelties to them; and Letty seated herself, after tea, to hear all -about that marvelous world beyond the sea. The Colonel still talked -about his visit to Europe in 1835, and Paris in the days of the Citizen -King, and imagined that everything had remained unchanged since then. -Madame de Fonblanque was a stout Monarchist, as most French people of -dubious antecedents profess to be, and gave out with much tact that, -although only the widow of a poor officer in the Lancers, she was on -intimate terms with all the Faubourg St. Germains. As she frankly -admitted her modest means, there was no hint of braggadocio in anything -she said in her fluent French-English. She had great curiosity about -Mr. Romaine, and was well up in all his adventures since he had been in -America. She spoke of him so coolly and critically that it never dawned -upon her listeners that the difficulties between them were not of the -usual business kind. - -“As for the English mees,” she said, calmly, “I would say to her, ‘Go -home, my pretty demoiselle; don’t waste your time on that--that aged -crocodile.’ The English, you know, have no sentiment. They call us -unfeeling because French parents select a suitable man for an innocent -young daughter to marry, and bid her feel for him all the tenderness -possible. But those calculating English meeses would marry old -Scaramouch himself if he had money enough.” - -The Colonel did not like to hear his favorite nation abused, and rather -squirmed under this; but he reflected that Madame de Fonblanque’s -remarks were due, no doubt, to the traditional jealousy between the -French and the English. - -Madame de Fonblanque gave the straightest possible account of herself, -including the desertion of her maid the day before. - -“I thought, with my trusty Suzanne, I could face anything. I did not -imagine I could go anywhere in this part of America that I would not -find hotels, railroads, telegraph offices--” - -“There is one tavern in the county, and that a very poor one, six miles -away--and not a line of telegraph wire or railway nearer than two -counties off,” explained Letty, smiling. - -Madame de Fonblanque clapped her hands. - -“How delicious! I shall tell this in France. It is like some of our -retired places in the provinces, where the government has erected -telegraph lines, but the people do not know exactly what they are meant -for! And when that wretched Suzanne left me, I asked at once for the -French consul--but I found there was none in town. All of my adventures -here have been novel--and as I have met with such very great kindness, -I shall always regard them as amusing.” - -She showed no disposition to trespass on the hospitality so generously -offered her, and looked out of the window anxiously when they rose to -go to their rooms. But it had begun snowing early in the evening, and -the ground was now perfectly white. - -“No boat to-morrow, madam,” said the Colonel. “You will, I am sure, be -forced to content yourself at Corbin Hall for some days yet.” - -“I content myself perfectly,” replied Madame de Fonblanque, with ready -grace; “but one must be careful not to take advantage of so much -generosity as yours.” - -When she was alone in the same old-fashioned bed-room that Farebrother -had occupied, enjoying, as he had done, the sparkling wood-fire, -she reflected gratefully upon the goodness of these refined and -simple-minded people--but she also reflected with much bitterness -upon the extremely slim prospect of her getting any money from Mr. -Romaine. She had fully counted upon his dread of ridicule, his fear of -publicity, to induce him to hand over a considerable sum of money; but -she had not in the least counted upon what she considered his truly -diabolical offer to come up to his word. To marry Mr. Romaine! She -could have brought herself to it, reflecting that he could not live -forever; but those few words he whispered to her showed her that it -was out of her power to get any money at his death. She believed what -he told her--it was so thoroughly characteristic of him--and she would -by no means risk the horrors of marrying this embodied whim with that -probability hanging over her. She turned it over and over in her mind, -wearily, until past midnight, when she tossed to and fro until the gray -dawn shone upon the snow-covered world. - -But Mr. Romaine suffered from more than sleeplessness that night. The -Chessinghams guessed from the accounts given by the servants of the -strange visitor that Madame de Fonblanque had turned up miraculously -with Colonel Corbin, and after a short interview with Mr. Romaine had -disappeared. They knew all about the old report that Mr. Romaine had -been very marked in his attentions at one time to the pretty widow and -Chessingham shrewdly guessed very near the truth concerning her visit, -which truth convulsed him with laughter. - -“It is the most absurd thing,” he said to his wife and Ethel Maywood, -in their own sitting-room that night. “No doubt the old fellow has some -entanglement with her, and finding widows a little more difficult to -impose upon than guileless maidens, he’s been trapped in some way.” - -“And serves him right,” said Mrs. Chessingham, with energy. “I know -he’s kind to us, Reggie--but--was there ever such another man as Mr. -Romaine, do you think?” - -“The Lord be praised, no,” answered Chessingham. “And he is not only -mentally and morally different from any man I ever saw, but physically, -too. I swear, after having been his doctor for two years, I don’t know -his constitution yet. He will describe to me the most contradictory -symptoms. He will profess to take a prescription and apparently it -will have just the opposite effect from that intended. Sometimes I -have asked myself if he has not, all the time, some disease that he -rigorously conceals from me, and he simply uses these subterfuges to -deceive me.” - -“Anything is possible with Mr. Romaine,” said Ethel quietly. “And -yet--he is the most generous of men. Our own father was not half so -free with his money to us as Mr. Romaine is. And he seems to shrink -from the least acknowledgment of it. How many men, do you think, would -allow a doctor to carry his wife and sister-in-law around with him -as he does, and do everything for us, as if we were the most valued -friends and guests?” - -“Oh, Romaine isn’t a bad man, so much as a perverse one,” replied -Chessingham, lightly, “and he is a tremendously interesting one.” - -At that very moment, Mr. Romaine was in the condition that any man but -himself would have called for a doctor--but not for worlds would he -have allowed Chessingham to see him then. He understood his own case -perfectly--and the one human being near him that was in his confidence -was Bridge. - -The evening was a very unhappy one for Mr. Romaine--the more so that -what the great specialist he had consulted had predicted was actually -happening. Being disturbed in mind, he was becoming ill in body. How -on earth had that cruel French woman found out about Dr. Chambers? So -Mr. Romaine thought, sitting in his library chair, suffering acutely. -Dr. Chessingham offered to come in and read to him, to play écarté -with him--but it occurred to Mr. Romaine that perhaps a visit to the -Chessinghams’ part of the house might divert his spirits and take -his mind off the torturing subject of Madame de Fonblanque. He took -Bridge’s arm and tottered off to the Chessinghams’ sitting-room. But -the instant he entered the door his indomitable spirit asserted itself. -He stood upright, walked steadily, and even forced a smile to his lips. -Mrs. Chessingham and Ethel were at their everlasting fancy work, of -which Mr. Romaine had never seen a completed specimen. Ethel rose and -placed a chair for him--which, as he was old and infirm and needed it, -nettled him extremely. - -“Pray, my dear Miss Maywood, don’t trouble yourself. I do not yet -require the kind coddling you would bestow upon me.” - -Ethel, being an amiable and patient creature, took this with a smile. - -“I am looking forward with great pleasure,” said Mr. Romaine, after -having seated himself in a straight-backed chair, while he yearned -for an easy one, “to the season in London. I have had my eye on that -house in Prince’s Gate for several years, and, of course, feel pleased -to have it. Being an old-fashioned man, I have kept pretty closely -to the localities which were modish when I was a young attaché some -years since--such as Belgravia, Grosvenor, and Lowndes Squares, and -all those places. But there is something very attractive about the new -Kensington--and I have intended for some years to take a house in that -part of town for a season--and this one particularly struck my fancy.” - -“It is very handsome--but very expensive,” said Mrs. Chessingham. - -“Most handsome things are expensive, dear madam, but this house is -reasonable, considering its charm, and I hope that you as well as your -sister will enjoy some of its pleasures with me.” - -Both young women smiled--it would be nice to have the run of the house -at Prince’s Gate--and after going through with a winter in the country, -and in Virginia, too, they thought they had earned it. - -“Heretofore,” continued Mr. Romaine, stroking his white mustache with -his delicate hand, “while I have been fond of entertaining, it has -always been of a sedate kind--chiefly dinners. But last year I was -beguiled into promising my young friend, Lady Gwendolen Beauclerc, -a ball, if I could get a house with a ball-room--and a few days ago -I received a very pretty reminder of my promise, in the shape of a -photograph and a letter.” - -“Better and better,” thought Ethel--“to be invited to a ball given to -please Lady Gwendolen Beauclerc!” But Gladys spoke up with her usual -simplicity and straightforwardness. - -“I hardly think, being now married to a medical man with his way to -make in the world, that I shall be asked to many swell balls--and -perhaps it is better that I should not go.” - -“But, Gladys, we went once to swell balls,” said Ethel, reproachfully. - -“Oh, yes,” answered Gladys, “but that was over and done with when I -married my husband--and he is well worth the sacrifice. Reggie himself -is of good family, as you know, but he is on that account too proud -to associate with people upon terms of condescension--so, when we -were married, we agreed to be very careful about giving and accepting -invitations.” - -“The social prejudices of you English are peculiar,” remarked Mr. -Romaine. “It is from you that we Virginia people inherit that profound -respect for land. I found, early in life, when I first went to -England and when Americans were scarce there, that it was more in my -favor to be a landholder and a slave-owner than if I had been worth -millions. The landed people in all countries are united by a powerful -bond, which does not seem to exist with other forms of property. But -because agriculture is perhaps the first and the most absorbing and -conservative of all industrial callings, the people who own land are -naturally bound together and appreciative of each other.” - -While Mr. Romaine was giving this little disquisition, he suffered -furious pain, but the only indication he gave of it was a furtive -wiping of his brow. - -“And the hold of the land upon one is peculiar. I could never bring -myself to part with an acre of it which I had either bought or -inherited. Of course, during my practical expatriation for many years, -my landed property here has suffered. I have often wondered at myself -for holding on to it, when I could have invested the money in an -English estate which really would have been much more profitable--but -I could never divest myself of the feeling that the land would yet -draw me back to it. However,” he continued, quite gaily, “it is now so -depreciated, and the new system is so impossible for the old masters -to adopt, that I can’t sell it, and I can’t live on it--so I shall be -compelled to buy an estate in England in the country, for a town house, -even the Prince’s Gate one, is only endurable for five months in the -year.” - -Ethel’s eyes glistened--a town house at Prince’s Gate--an estate in the -country! Might she not, after all, be Mrs. Romaine? And Mr. Romaine’s -position was so much better than that of any other American she knew; -the others were all striving for recognition, but Mr. Romaine had had -an assured place in English society for a generation. He had not only -dandled Lady Gwendolen Beauclerc, who was a duke’s daughter, on his -knee, but he had danced, at a court ball, with the Queen herself, when -she was a youthful matron, and he was a slim young diplomat. And in a -flash of imagination, Ethel saw herself becomingly attired in widow’s -weeds and leaving, by the hands of a footman in mourning livery, -black-bordered cards, bearing the inscription, “_Mrs. Romaine_.” - - - - -XI - - -At last, Mr. Romaine was conquered by pain, and rose to leave the -Chessinghams’ rooms about ten o’clock. As he said good-night, some -strange impulse made him take Ethel’s soft, white hand in his, which -was deathly cold and clammy. He looked at her in her fresh, wholesome -beauty. He knew she was just as designing in her own way as Madame -de Fonblanque--but the designing was different in the two women, -according to their race. Ethel’s was the peculiarly artless and -primitive designing, which is as near as the English character can come -to deception--for it really deceives nobody. Madame de Fonblanque’s -was the consummate designing of the Latin races, which could deceive -almost anybody. At that very moment she was completely hoodwinking -the people at Corbin Hall, and Letty, who had been disgusted with -Ethel’s transparent devices to ensnare Mr. Romaine, never for a -moment suspected that the graceful and tactful Madame de Fonblanque’s -“business” with Mr. Romaine was an attempt to entrap him of a nature -much more desperate and barefaced than Ethel would have dreamed of. - -But as Mr. Romaine looked into Ethel’s rosy, fresh face, he saw a great -deal of good there. She would not bedevil him as the French woman had -done. She was amiable even in her disappointments, and if things had -been otherwise, and she could have shared with him the town house, and -the country house, and the carriage, would have tended him faithfully -and kindly. Some dim idea of rewarding her by making her an offer as -soon as he was clear of the French woman dawned upon his mind. Ethel, -for her part, read a new look of gentleness in his expressive black -eyes--and his hand-clasp was positively tender. But his pain showed -in his glance--there was something agonizing in his eyes as Ethel’s -met his. And fascinated by them she gazed into them with a strange -and pathetic feeling that it was not “good-night” she was saying, but -“good-by.” Mr. Romaine himself had something of this feeling--and -so for a fall minute they stood hand in hand, and quite silent. Mrs. -Chessingham moved away judiciously--and did not return until the door -closed behind Mr. Romaine. Ethel stood in the same spot, with a pained -face. - -“Do you know, Gladys, I had a queer feeling just now--as if Mr. Romaine -were really ill, and might die at any time? And all the time we have -looked upon him as a hypochondriac.” - -“Reggie says if anybody really expected Mr. Romaine to die he would -live forever. But I have not heard him say he was ill, and I am sure -Reggie does not suspect it. And, Ethel dear, I shouldn’t be surprised -if, after all, that house at Prince’s Gate should be yours.” - -“_I_ should be,” answered Ethel, “but if it ever is, I promise to be -kind to the old gentleman.” - -Bridge had met “the old gentleman” just outside the door, and had gone -with him to the library, where he sat within easy call. Mr. Romaine, -seated at his table, after a while seemed to recover from his paroxysm -of pain. He unlocked a drawer and took out his will, which he read -over, smiling all the time--he seemed to regard it as a very facetious -document. Then he added something to it. He had a few valuable diamonds -which he had collected for no particular purpose some years before, -and he thought that Ethel Maywood might as well have them. And then -he wrote his offer to Madame de Fonblanque, and sealed and addressed -it. It seemed to give him such acute pleasure that he almost forgot -his pain. He smiled, his black eyes sparkled, he smoothed his mustache -coquettishly, and thought to himself: - -“Checkmated, by Jove!” - -It was then near twelve o’clock, and he rang for Bridge and went to his -bed-room. - -The man undressed him and put him to bed, and then Mr. Romaine said -casually: - -“You had better sit in this room to-night.” - -Even with this servant, who knew the whole secret of his ailments, Mr. -Romaine maintained a systematic kind of deceit which did not deceive. - -Bridge stirred the fire into a ruddy blaze, and sat down by it to -doze. Occasionally he rose and went toward the luxurious bed, where -Mr. Romaine lay with wide-open, staring eyes, and every few moments he -wanted something done for him. This alarmed Bridge, but he dared not -show his uneasiness. At last, about two o’clock in the morning, when he -had given up all attempts at dozing, he heard a sound which made him -jump. It was a slight groan. - -In all the sixteen years that he had served Mr. Romaine he had never -known from him the slightest sign that pain was victor. Bridge fairly -ran to the bed at this. - -“What’s the matter?” sternly asked Mr. Romaine. - -“Didn’t I hear you groan, sir?” - -“Of course not--Bridge, you are in your dotage.” - -Bridge went back to his place. In ten minutes came another groan--and -another. - -He rose and went to the bedside again. - -“Mr. Romaine, I’m a-goin’ for Mr. Chessingham. I can’t stand this no -longer.” - -“I should think if I could stand it, you could.” - -“No, sir. Can’t nobody stand what you can stand, and I’m a-goin’ for -Mr. Chessingham.” - -“If you dare,” said Mr. Romaine. - -Bridge moved toward the door. By a tremendous effort Mr. Romaine rose -up in bed, and seizing a carafe of water from the table at his side, -sent it whizzing after Bridge. It missed its target by a very close -shave, indeed. - -“Next time,” said Mr. Romaine, “I will aim better.” - -Bridge returned to his seat by the fire. - -All night the struggle went on. Mr. Romaine writhed in agony, but the -determination to disappoint Bridge brought him out alive. When morning -broke, the worst was over, and he seemed as likely to live as he had -done at any time since Bridge first knew him. But the unhappy valet -showed the terrible experience he had been through with, and his pallid -face and nervous hands brought a grim smile to Mr. Romaine’s face. - -About ten o’clock Mr. Romaine announced that he would rise and dress, -having made, many years before, a secret resolution that he would die -with his boots on. Bridge, completely subdued, assisted at this toilet, -and helped him into the library. - -While shaving him, though, Mr. Romaine said, crossly: - -“You are so afraid I am dying that you’ll probably cut my throat out of -pure nervousness. I have half a mind to send for that black barber at -Corbin Hall, who can give you points on shaving.” - -Bridge was so frightened and uneasy about Mr. Romaine’s condition that -he did not even resent this slur. - -It was still intensely cold and snowing. But the roaring fire and heavy -curtains made the room deliciously comfortable. Chessingham always came -to Mr. Romaine at eleven--and on this particular morning he found Mr. -Romaine in his usual place before the great, cheery fireplace. But he -undoubtedly looked ill. - -“What sort of a night did you have?” was the young doctor’s first -inquiry. - -“Only fairly good,” replied Mr. Romaine, and then went on with great -seriousness to describe a multitude of trifling symptoms, such as any -imaginative person can conjure up at any moment. - -“The fact is,--to be perfectly candid with you,”--said Chessingham, who -was a conscientious man, “if you allow yourself to dwell upon these -trifling ailments they will entail real suffering upon you. Try and -forget about your stiff shoulder, and your neuralgic headache, and that -sort of thing.” - -“But my dear fellow,” answered Mr. Romaine, with a flash of humor in -his black eyes, “you know it is my infirmity to exaggerate my aches and -pains. Last night, for what I acknowledge was a mere trifle, I actually -lay in my bed and groaned.” This was for Bridge’s benefit, who was -putting on Mr. Romaine’s immaculate boots at that moment. - -Chessingham, however, did not know exactly what to make of Mr. -Romaine’s statement. His practised eye saw that something was the -matter. But if Mr. Romaine refused to tell the doctor whom he hired to -take care of his health what ailed him, the doctor was not to blame. -Chessingham went back to his part of the house, much puzzled and deeply -annoyed. - -“Do you know,” he said to his wife, “I doubt very much if I did a wise -thing in accepting Mr. Romaine’s offer to stay with him. My object, of -saving enough from my salary to start me in London, will be attained. -But suppose Mr. Romaine should die of some disease that he has -concealed from me--my professional reputation would be hurt.” - -Gladys said some comforting words, and told him about Mr. Romaine’s -plans for buying an estate in England, the Prince’s Gate house, the -impending ball, etc. At every word she said, Chessingham looked more -and more gloomy. - -“Very bad, very bad,” he said. “Worse and worse. He must be very ill, -indeed, if he thinks it necessary to talk that way.” - -Gladys laughed at Chessingham’s interpretation of Mr. Romaine’s -remarks, and reminded him of his oft-repeated prediction that Mr. -Romaine would live to bury all of them. - -“It is simply the same old puzzle,” he said at last, impatiently. “I -thought heretofore that nothing ailed him except his diabolically -ingenious imagination. Now, I believe that everything ails him--but I -cannot tell.” - -The day passed on with leaden feet to Mr. Romaine, sitting, suffering -and smiling, in his easy-chair. At six o’clock, he called for Bridge -to dress him for the evening as usual. Bridge, thoroughly frightened, -turned pale at this. - -“Mr. Romaine,” he said, pleadingly, “I’m afraid, sir, it’ll--be the -death of you.” - -“You’ll be the death of me another way,” vigorously responded Mr. -Romaine. “You’ll enrage me so that I’ll break a blood vessel.” - -Bridge went and got the necessary things, and Mr. Romaine made a -ghastly toilet. He was always particular about the tying of his white -cravat, and on this especial evening almost took poor Bridge’s head -off and ruined four ties before one was done to suit him. When he got -through, he was gasping for breath, but perfectly undaunted. - -The nervous apprehension of the young doctor about Mr. Romaine -communicated itself to everybody at Shrewsbury. They all, from the -Chessinghams and Miss Maywood down to the very house dogs, that whined -in their loneliness and imprisonment to the house, felt as if something -ghastly and terrible was descending with the night. All except Mr. -Romaine himself, who maintained an uncanny sort of gaiety all day long, -and who, every time Chessingham visited him, was found cackling over -some humorous journals that had arrived a day or two before. But the -young doctor could not quite appreciate the funny cartoons and lively -jokes, and his grave face seemed to afford Mr. Romaine much saturnine -amusement. - -The day that was so long at Shrewsbury was very short at Corbin Hall. -The Colonel was simply delighted with Madame de Fonblanque, and -harangued to Letty privately upon Romaine’s deuced unchivalric conduct -to a noble, attractive, and blameless woman. This excellent man had -accepted Madame de Fonblanque at her face value. Letty was more worldly -wise than the Colonel, but she, too, had fallen a victim to Madame de -Fonblanque’s charms and was only too ready to think Mr. Romaine a brute. - -After a delightful day, spent chiefly in the comfortable old library, -where they could bid defiance to the cold and snow without, a wholly -unexpected visitor turned up just at nightfall. A loud knock at the -front door, much yelping of dogs and stamping of booted feet announced -an arrival. - -There had been an understanding that Sir Archy was to repeat his visit -later in the winter. He was liable to arrive at any day, and when the -commotion in the large and dusky hall was heard, the Colonel only -voiced the general impression of the group around the library fire when -he said: - -“It is no doubt our kinsman, Sir Archibald.” But it was not “Sir -Archibald”--and the next minute Farebrother came walking in, as if he -had just been around the corner. His face was ruddy with the biting -wintry air, and his eyes were bright. - -The Colonel was openly charmed to see him; so was Miss Jemima, and -Letty’s face turned such a rosy red that it told a little story of its -own. Farebrother explained that he was on his way home from the South -on a professional trip, and had written that he would stop over two or -three days at Corbin Hall. His letters had not been received--the mails -being conducted upon a happy-go-lucky schedule in that part of the -world--and on finding the river closed by ice when he left the railway -twenty-five miles away, he had hired horses and had driven the distance -that day in spite of the storm. - -It was certainly good to see him--he was so cheerful, so manly, so full -of fresh and breezy life. When he, as it were, was dragged into the -library by the Colonel, Madame de Fonblanque was not present--she had -gone to her room for a little rest before supper. In a little while the -Colonel began to tell about her--and once started on a theme, he could -not resist airing his opinion of “Romaine’s utter want of courtesy and -consideration for a woman.” - -Farebrother’s countenance was a study during all this. When the -Colonel had left the room, he turned to Letty and said, half laughing -as he spoke, “Is it possible that Colonel Corbin picked up Madame de -Fonblanque at the river landing and brought her here to stay until she -chooses to quit?” - -“Of course,” answered Letty, tartly. “What else was there left to do?” - -A great part of Farebrother’s enjoyment of his Corbin Hall friends -consisted in their simplicity and the number of hearty laughs they -afforded him. - -“I declare, Miss Corbin,” he exclaimed, after indulging himself in a -masculine ha-ha, “it’s a great thing to know a place where one can get -a new sensation. It can always be had in Virginia. You are certainly -the simplest people about some things and the shrewdest about others I -ever saw.” - -“Thank you,” answered Letty, smiling, “but, please, as I am not quite -a woman of the world yet--tell me what is the matter with Madame de -Fonblanque?” - -“Nothing on earth that I know of. But there is room for suspicion in -everybody’s mind who knows the world. What is her mysterious business -with Mr. Romaine? Likely as not, blackmail.” - -Letty jumped as Farebrother said this; for at that moment the door -opened and Madame de Fonblanque entered. - -Within ten minutes after her introduction to Farebrother, Letty saw -a subtile change in her. She exchanged her charming candor and frank -personal conversation for the guarded manner of a woman who knows a -good deal about this wicked world, and she conversed upon the safest -and most general subjects. When the Colonel returned they all went in -to supper, which boasted seven different kinds of bread, served by -Dad Davy with his grandest flourishes. But the Colonel’s delightful -assumption that Madame de Fonblanque would be their guest for at least -a month, and would probably return in the autumn, “when the climate of -old Virginia, madam, is truly glorious and life-giving,” did not meet -with the same enthusiastic acceptance from Madame de Fonblanque as it -had done at dinner. - -The truth was, with Farebrother’s keen eyes upon her, and his polite -but guarded manner toward her, she was dealing with a different -person from the innocent old Colonel and the unsuspicious Letty. The -conversation turned upon Mr. Romaine. The Colonel glowered darkly, and -growled below his breath that Romaine, with age and eccentricities, was -becoming intolerable. Madame de Fonblanque shrugged her shoulders. - -“I hope none of you will be so unhappy as to have business transactions -with Mr. Romaine. You will certainly find him a very difficult person.” -She said Farebrother seemed to be the only friend that Mr. Romaine had -at the table. - -“There’s really a great deal that is engaging and even admirable about -him,” he said. “He is a man of great natural astuteness, and if he took -a stand he would be apt to know his ground well, so that he could hold -it.” - -Madame de Fonblanque flashed a look at Farebrother, which he met with -a cool smile. She knew that he suspected her, and he knew that she -knew he suspected her. Her surroundings were entirely novel to her; -her hosts were like the old provincial gentry in the remote corners of -France, and such people are always much alike, and easy to hoodwink. -She was grateful to them for their kindness, and had no thought of -deceiving them any more than was necessary. But Farebrother was a type -of man that she knew all about; well learned in the ways of the world, -superlatively honest, but fully able to protect himself against scamps -of either sex. She wondered if he had not heard some talk about the -affair between Mr. Romaine and herself--and at that very moment, she -was almost overcome by chagrin and disappointment. She was desperately -in need of money, despite her fur cloak and her expensive finery, and -she had felt from the moment Mr. Romaine spoke that there was not the -slightest chance of her getting any money from him. She wanted to write -to England and consult her lawyer there before taking any further -steps, and it had occurred to her, as the most convenient arrangement, -to await his reply at Corbin Hall. And besides, what a rage it would -put Mr. Romaine in! But if this robust and slightly bold person, with -his cheerful manner and his alert blue eyes, were to be there, Madame -de Fonblanque would rather be somewhere else. - -The Colonel was much puzzled because Madame de Fonblanque and -Farebrother were not hail-fellow-well-met, and felt very much as if -Farebrother were guilty of a want of chivalry--but still, there was -nothing to take hold of, for he was perfectly courteous to her. But -she had nothing more to say about her intimacy with the old royalist -families, and when Farebrother boldly avowed himself a firm believer in -the French republic, Madame de Fonblanque did not sigh and say, “Ah, if -you had ancestors who died for Louis and Charles and Louis Philippe, -you would not love the republic,” as she had done when Letty advanced -the same view. In short, Madame de Fonblanque had met her match. - -As soon as supper was over she excused herself and went to her room -for an hour or two. She really felt depressed and unequal to keeping -up the strain any longer at that time. The Colonel tramped down to the -stable in the snow, to see that Tom Battercake had made the horses -comfortable for the night; and Miss Jemima always remained an hour in -the dining-room after every meal, in close confabulation with the cook. -Letty and Farebrother went alone to the library. - -The lamps were lighted, but the fire needed a vigorous poking, which -Letty proceeded to administer, going down on her knees. Farebrother, -who knew better than to interfere, stood by the hearth watching her. -When she had got through, he suddenly went up close to her and caught -her hands in his. - -“Letty,” he said, in a firm and serious voice that she had never heard -him use before, “do you know what I came here for?” - -In an instant she knew. But the knowledge staggered her. The idea that -Farebrother would take the bit between his teeth and break through all -her maze of little coquetries like that had never dawned upon her. In -another minute he had made his meaning so plain to her that there was -no evading it. - -For the first time Farebrother saw a frightened look come into her -clear eyes. She turned pale, but she made no effort to escape from him. -He told her that he loved her well, with the manly force and directness -that women like, and Letty stammered some sweet, incoherent answer -which revealed that she too knew the exaltation of life’s great fever. -All her pretty airs and graces dropped from her in a moment--she stood -trembling, and unconsciously returned the clasp of Farebrother’s strong -hands, like some weak creature holding desperately to one that is all -steadfastness. Farebrother could not recall afterward one word that he -had said; he only remembered that he felt as if they two stood alone on -some cloud-capped peak, the whole world vanished from their sight, but -sunshine above them and all around them. - -Two tears dropped from Letty’s eyes, she knew not why, and Farebrother -consoled her, for what he did not know--and they drank the wine of life -together. But after a while they came from their own heaven down to a -real world that was scarcely less beautiful to them. - -Almost the first rational question Farebrother asked her was--“And how -about that good-looking villain of an Englishman?” - -“My cousin Archibald? Why, he never asked me to be Lady Corbin.” - -“Thank the Lord.” There was a good deal more sincerity in this -thanksgiving than might have been suspected. - -“Do you think I would have been dazzled by his title and money?” asked -Letty, offended. - -“No, because you don’t know anything about either money or titles. You -are a very clever girl, my dear, but you are very unsophisticated, so -far. I believe, though, he would have to come down here among you -quaint Virginia people to find any girl who wouldn’t take him. And the -sinner is a deuced fine fellow--that I must admit.” - -“I _did_ want the honor and glory of refusing him,” Letty admitted, -candidly, “but he never gave me the chance, more’s the pity.” - -Farebrother burst into a ringing laugh. Letty’s ideas on the subject of -love and courtship had a unique and childish candor which delighted a -man who knew as much about this ridiculous old planet as Farebrother. - -Their lovemaking was cut short by the Colonel’s and Miss Jemima’s -entrance. Colonel Corbin at once engaged Farebrother in a red-hot -political discussion. The Colonel was a believer in states’ rights to -the point of not believing in a central government at all, and Letty -ably assisted him by ready references to the Constitution of the United -States. But Farebrother was a match for them both, and argued that -Washington, Hamilton, and a great many of the fathers wanted a central -government a great deal stronger than their successors of to-day are -prepared to accept. The Colonel, though, was rather disgusted to -observe that Letty and Farebrother were half laughing while they -argued and quarrelled, and that Letty wore a very sweet smile when once -or twice the Colonel was unhorsed in the discussion. From politics they -fell into talk about Mr. Romaine, and in the midst of it a tap came at -the door, and Madame de Fonblanque entered. - -“We were again discussing our eccentric friend Romaine, Madame,” said -the Colonel, anxious lest Madame de Fonblanque should suppose that her -arrival was an interruption. “Mr. Farebrother seems to take a more -indulgent view of him than any of us do.” - -“For my part,” answered Madame de Fonblanque, with a gesture of -aversion, “I do not hesitate to say that I dislike Mr. Romaine very -much. I cannot deny that he is a gentleman--” - -“Technically, my dear madam--technically--” - -“--But I believe, if he were to die to-morrow, he would not leave -behind him one heart to ache for him.” - -Just then the door opened, and Dad Davy presented a solemn, scared face. - -“Marse Colonel,” he said, “dee done sont dat white man, Dodson, f’um -Shrewsbury, an’ he say Mr. Romaine mighty sick an’ dee ’feerd he gwine -die, and he want Madame Fireblock--or whatever she name--ter come right -away. Dee got a kerridge and hosses out d’yar and de white man k’yarn -leave ’em.” - -A sudden chill and silence fell upon them all at this. Mr. Romaine must -indeed be dying if he sent for Madame de Fonblanque. - -So terrible and so piteous is death that every one of them, who a -moment before had been discussing the dying man with severity, felt -that he or she would do much to save him. Even Madame de Fonblanque -turned pale. - -“Of course, I will go,” she said, “perhaps he wants my forgiveness--or -to repair the injury he has done me.” - -She went hastily up-stairs, Letty with her, to put on her wraps to -go to the house from which only a few hours before she had been -ignominiously shown. The Colonel would by no means allow her to go -alone, and when she came down, she found him with his great-coat on, -and a large pair of “gambadoes” strapped around his legs to protect his -trousers, in case he should have to get out on the road in the snow and -slush. In a few moments, they were on their way in the bitter night -toward Shrewsbury, the Colonel’s saddle horse following the carriage. - -Letty and Farebrother and Miss Jemima, sitting in the library, -determined to wait until midnight, certainly, for some news of the -dying man or the Colonel’s return. In spite of the happiness of the -lovers, there was a cloud upon Farebrother and Letty. Not a word was -said about Mr. Romaine’s will. All of them were more or less skeptical -about it, but still his death was deeply impressive to them. At one -o’clock, they were still sitting there, talking gravely, when they -heard the returning carriage, and presently the Colonel stalked -solemnly in, and Madame de Fonblanque in much agitation with him. - - - - -XII - - -It was only four miles to Shrewsbury, and Dodson did not spare the -horses, but it took them an hour to make it, and it was ten o’clock -before they drew up to the door. Madame de Fonblanque had remained -perfectly silent during the drive. But the Colonel, remembering that he -must, of necessity, soon go the perilous way that Mr. Romaine was now -traversing, was all remorse. He reproached himself for his estrangement -from Mr. Romaine, and remembered only their boyhood together, when they -had been really fond of one another. - -As the carriage crunched along the drive across the lawn, the house -door opened, and Mrs. Chessingham appeared. The Colonel assisted Madame -de Fonblanque up the steps, and in the full glare of the light Mrs. -Chessingham saw the woman that had made such a commotion the night -before. She was struck by the dignity of Madame de Fonblanque’s -bearing, and could imagine how even so fastidious a person as Mr. -Romaine might be fascinated by her. - -“He has been asking for you for the last half hour,” she said, helping -Madame de Fonblanque off with her wraps, and escorting her to the door -of Mr. Romaine’s library. - -Mr. Chessingham came out with a troubled face, and, closing the door -behind him, was presented to Madame de Fonblanque. - -“Do you think he is dying?” she asked. - -“Undoubtedly. And he knows it himself, and is perfectly prepared, but -when I ventured to hint as much to him, he told me he thought Carlsbad -was the place for him, and he was going there next summer.” - -A faint smile appeared upon the faces of all three. Majestic death was -at hand, but Mr. Romaine had to have his quip with the Destroyer before -going upon the great journey. - -“And I frankly admit,” said Chessingham, worried almost beyond -bearing, “that Mr. Romaine has never yet told me what ailed him, and -I do not know any more than you do what he is dying of. I suspect, of -course--but it may be one of a half dozen things, any one of which -would be equally fatal. He will not let me know his pulse, temperature, -or anything, and his perversity about his symptoms is simply -phenomenal. He will not even be undressed and go to bed. If you will -believe me, he had his evening clothes put on him, and there he sits, -dying.” - -Madame de Fonblanque, without another word, advanced and opened the -door for herself, shutting it carefully after her. - -There, indeed, sat Mr. Romaine in his easy-chair, with his feet in -exquisite dancing pumps, stretched out to the fire. His face was -ghastly white--but as it was always white, it did not make a great deal -of difference. His eyes, though, were quite unchanged--in fact, they -seemed to glow with an added fire and brilliance. Still, he was plainly -dying. - -“I came as soon as you sent for me,” said Madame de Fonblanque, gently. -“I want to say now, that if you think I bear you any anger for anything -you have said or done to me, you are mistaken. I forget it all as I -look at you.” - -“Did you think I sent for you to ask your forgiveness?” asked Mr. -Romaine, faintly, but fluently. - -“I can think of no other reason.” - -“Then you must be a very unimaginative person. I sent for you to punish -you as you deserve. It won’t make life any pleasanter for you to know -that you helped me out of it. I have had, for some years, as you know, -an affection which the doctors told me any agitation or distress might -make fatal. I might have lived for years--but your presence here last -night was my death blow. I don’t care a rush about living,--in fact, -I would rather die than suffer as I do now,--but I would have lived -possibly ten years longer, but for you.” - -“Pray do not say that,” cried Madame de Fonblanque, turning pale. -“Think what a painful thought to follow one through life.” - -“That’s why I tell you.” - -“Pray, pray withdraw it,” cried Madame de Fonblanque, in tears. “I -implore you.” - -“You would not withdraw your demand for one hundred thousand francs. -If you had--if you had shown me the slightest mercy, there is a way -by which I might have rewarded you. I could have borrowed a good deal -of money upon some few pictures I have in Europe. But forced under -the hammer, they will not bring, with this Virginia land, more than -enough to pay my debts and a few legacies.” He stopped a moment, out of -breath, and the silence was only broken by Madame de Fonblanque’s faint -sobs. - -“Nobody has ever yet relied upon my generosity without experiencing -it. But everybody that has ever fought me, I have made to rue it,” he -continued. - -Madame de Fonblanque sank kneeling by his chair, and wept nervously. - -“Will you--forgive me? You must.” - -“Rubbish!” - -“And are you not afraid to go into that other world with a fellow -creature crying after you from this for forgiveness?” - -“Not a bit. I never knew what fear was. Pain, instead of making me fear -death, has rendered me totally indifferent to it. I am astonished at -myself now, that I feel so little apprehension.” - -Madame de Fonblanque got up from her knees. Living or dying, he was -unlike other men. - -“Now,” said he, “I want you to make me a promise. Dying people’s -requests are sacred, you know. Perhaps if you oblige me in this -instance, I may oblige you later on. Will you promise?” - -“Yes,” answered Madame de Fonblanque, unable to say no. - -“I desire that you remain alone with me until I am dead. It is coming -now. I feel it.” - -Madame de Fonblanque remained silent with horror. A frightful paroxysm -of pain came on, and after standing the sight of him writhing for a few -moments, she fled shrieking from the room. - -An instant later she returned with Chessingham. Mr. Romaine had then -recovered from his spasm of pain, and greeted her sarcastically. - -“You have broken your promise,” he said. - -Chessingham came up to him anxiously. He proposed a dozen alleviations -of the pain, but Mr. Romaine would not agree to any. - -“Look here, Chessingham,” he said, “the game is up. I am dying, and I -might as well own it. I haven’t taken a dose of your medicine since I -employed you as my doctor. I consulted Chambers on the sly, and studied -up my case myself--and I have a whole pharmacopœia that you never saw -or heard of. It was rather shabby of me, I acknowledge; but I liked -you and thought you were a capital fellow, and I wanted your company, -and the only way I could get you was to make you my doctor.” - -Chessingham said nothing. He could not reproach a dying man, but his -stern face spoke volumes. - -“And you are one of the most honest fellows in the world. Don’t think -I disbelieve in honesty. I believe in a great many good things. I even -believe in a Great First Cause. I have only followed the natural law: -those that have been good to me, I have been good to--and those that -haven’t been good to me, I have taken the liberty of paying off in -this world, for fear that by some hocus-pocus they might sneak out of -punishment in the next.” - -“I want to say one thing to you,” said Chessingham. “I never have -considered you a bad man. But your virtues are not common virtues, and -your faults are not common faults.” - -“Thank you, my dear fellow. It is true, I never could strike the great -vein of commonplace in anything.” - -Then there was a pause. Mr. Romaine, though evidently suffering, yet -continued to talk until Madame de Fonblanque whispered to Chessingham: - -“I believe he actually enjoys the situation!” - -She herself longed to leave, yet hesitated. She thought if she stayed -that perhaps at the end Mr. Romaine might grant her some words of -forgiveness. She was a superstitious woman, and Mr. Romaine knew it. -So, with a white face, she seated herself a little way off, at the side -of the fireplace. Bridge came in and out of the room noiselessly, his -feet sinking in the thick Turkish carpet. The room was strangely quiet, -but the very intensity of the silence gave Mr. Romaine’s voice and -quivering breath and faint sounds of pain a fearful distinctness. And -even in his extremity, the “situation,” as Madame de Fonblanque called -it, was not without its diversion to him. - -“Corbin came with you, of course,” Mr. Romaine said to Madame de -Fonblanque after a while. He had at last consented to take a little -brandy, although steadily refusing any of Chessingham’s medicine, and -seemed to be revived by it. Then he said to Chessingham: - -“Pray, after I am dead, give my regards to Corbin, but don’t let him -examine my coffin plate. I desire my age put down as fifty-eight, and -I won’t have one of Corbin’s long-winded arguments to prove that I am -sixty-nine. Still, Corbin is a good fellow. But if there were many like -him, the rascals would soon have a handsome majority everywhere. And I -also wish my regards given to Mrs. Chessingham and Miss Maywood, and my -apologies for disappointing them regarding the season in London. And -also to Letty Corbin,” and Mr. Romaine paused, and his face softened. - -“Say to Jemima Corbin, if I ever caused her pain I now ask her -forgiveness for it.” - -This surprised both Chessingham and Madame de Fonblanque much, who knew -of no reason why Mr. Romaine should send such a message to good Miss -Jemima. - -It was now about eleven o’clock. Mr. Romaine was evidently going fast, -but he still managed to resist being laid on the sofa. - -“You will last longer,” said Chessingham. - -“I don’t care to last any longer than I can help,” snapped Mr. Romaine, -in what Farebrother had called his Romainesque manner. - -“My will is in that drawer,” he said, with some difficulty. “It will -cause a good deal of surprise,” and his teeth showed in a ghastly smile -between his blue lips, “and also a letter for Madame de Fonblanque.” - -At the last Mr. Romaine fell into a stupor. Presently he opened his -eyes, and looking Chessingham full in the face, said in a pleasant -voice, “Good-night.” - -“Good-night,” responded Chessingham; and before the words were out of -his mouth Mr. Romaine had ceased to breathe. - -Madame de Fonblanque rushed to the door, as she had been on the point -of doing every moment she had been in the room. Bridge followed her, -and caught her out in the hall. - -“Madam,” he said, “I wants to say as I heard what Mr. Romaine said to -you about your givin’ ’im ’is death blow. Mr. Romaine has been a-dyin’ -for a month--and it s’prised me he lasted so long. I say this because -it’s my dooty.” - -“Thank you,” cried Madame de Fonblanque. - -Mrs. Chessingham, Colonel Corbin, and Ethel Maywood were all gathered -in the hall when Chessingham came out with a solemn face. Ethel was -white and trembling, and felt a strange grief at knowing that Mr. -Romaine was no more. There were no tears shed. All of them had at some -time received kindnesses from Mr. Romaine, but also all of them had -experienced the iron hand under the velvet glove. Madame de Fonblanque -could not get away from the house fast enough, and so the same carriage -that had brought them there landed them at Corbin Hall about one -o’clock. - -Farebrother, Letty, and Miss Jemima were still up. The fire had been -kept going, although the lamp had long since given out. Colonel -Corbin’s face told the story. A pause fell, as in the hall at -Shrewsbury, and in the shadows Miss Jemima wiped two tears from her -withered face. They were the only tears shed for Mr. Romaine. - -Madame de Fonblanque’s nerve quite forsook her. She felt that she must -get away from that place, so associated with tragic things, or die. It -had suddenly moderated, and a warm rain had set in by midnight that was -certain to break up the ice in the river. She begged and implored the -Colonel to take her to the landing on the chance of the boat passing. -Colonel Corbin could not say no to her pleading--and so, in the dimness -of early dawn, she disappeared like a shadow that had come from another -world and had gone back to it. - - - - -XIII - - -As soon as the funeral was over came the reading of the will. On the -outside was the request, written in Mr. Romaine’s own hand, that it be -read by Chessingham, whom he appointed his executor in case he died in -America--for in his own country there was scarcely a person with whom -Mr. Romaine was upon terms of any close association. The request was -also made that Colonel Corbin and Miss Letty Corbin be present when the -will was read, and any one else that Chessingham desired. - -On the day following the one when Mr. Romaine had been laid in the -old burying-ground beside his fathers, Chessingham wrote a note to -Colonel and Miss Corbin, inviting their presence upon a certain day -at Shrewsbury, and although Mr. Romaine had not mentioned any of -his numerous tribes of nephews and nieces, Chessingham scrupulously -invited them all. Farebrother, who found it very pleasant lingering at -Corbin Hall as Letty’s lover, of course did not accompany the Corbins -to Shrewsbury. Like Letty, he would have been pleased to have money -“honestly come by,” so to speak; but the idea of having it under the -circumstances from Mr. Romaine appeared to him as undesirable as it did -to her. - -“And I tell you now,” said Letty, firmly, to Farebrother, as he stood -on the old porch in the wintry sunshine waiting for Dad Davy (who -superseded Tom Battercake on important occasions like this) with the -ramshackly carriage; “I tell you now, I don’t want that money, and I -shall at once consult a lawyer to see if it can’t be turned over to the -people it rightfully belongs to. It would make me wretched to know of -those poor people--I know how poor they are and out at elbows--actually -in want, while I should have what was their grandfather’s and their -uncle’s.” - -“All right,” answered Farebrother, “and I would prefer that you should -have the whole thing settled before we are married, so you can act as -a perfectly free agent. As for me, if I can have you,” etc., etc., -etc.--which may be interpreted in the language of lovers. - -Arrived at Shrewsbury, it was seen that every relative of Mr. Romaine -had accepted Chessingham’s invitation and was on hand. Letty had to -run the gantlet of their hostile eyes as she entered the library, for -the great affair had already leaked out. The room looked strangely -suggestive of Mr. Romaine. Letty could scarcely persuade herself that -at any moment his slight figure and sparkling black eyes would not -appear. - -Mrs. Chessingham and Ethel were in the room by special request of -Colonel Corbin, who thought it a mark of respect. When they were all -assembled, Chessingham, who had worn a very peculiar look, began to -speak in the midst of a solemn silence. - -“As you are perhaps aware, our late friend, Mr. Romaine, desired me -to act as his executor in case he died in this country--a contingency -which he seemed to think likely when he came here, less than a year -ago. In pursuance of my duties, I have examined his papers, which are -very few, and find everything concerning him to have been in perfect -order for many years past, so that if he had died at any moment there -would have been no difficulty in settling his affairs. But I soon -discovered a very important fact--which is,”--here he spoke with -deliberate emphasis,--“that instead of Mr. Romaine possessing a large -fortune, as the world has always supposed, he had invested everything -he had in--annuities--which gave him a very large income--but he left -but little behind him.” - -A kind of groan went round among the poor relations. Letty, who -understood quickly what was meant, felt dazed; she did not know whether -she was glad or sorry. - -Chessingham exhibited some papers, showing, in Mr. Romaine’s writing, -the amounts of various annuities, which aggregated a magnificent -income. Then came a list of his actual property, which consisted -chiefly of the Shrewsbury place and the Virginia lands, but which -were heavily mortgaged. His personal property was remarkably small; -Mr. Romaine had always boasted his freedom from impedimenta. And then -began the reading of the will. It was the same brief document that -Chessingham and Miss Maywood had witnessed. Some of the nieces and -nephews got a few thousand dollars. Chessingham got his _douceur_, -Miss Maywood got the diamonds in a codicil witnessed by Bridge and -Dodson, and Letty was left “residuary legatee” by a person who had -nothing to give. When she walked out of the Shrewsbury house she was -not any richer than when she went in it. But before that Colonel -Corbin had risen and in a very dignified and forcible manner read the -correspondence that had passed between Mr. Romaine and himself and -Letty, which showed conclusively that they were in no way parties to -Mr. Romaine’s scheme, but rather victims of it. Then Chessingham, -replying to a formal question of the Colonel’s, admitted that there -would be in all probability not enough property to pay the legacies in -full, and the Colonel and Letty retired, having no further interest in -Mr. Romaine’s affairs. - -When they got home Farebrother ran down the steps to meet them. - -“I sha’n’t get a penny, and I’m glad of it,” cried out Letty, from the -carriage, before Farebrother could open the door. - -“Wait until you have struggled along in New York on four or five -thousand a year before you say that,” answered Farebrother in a gay -whisper which quite escaped the Colonel, who knew, however, how the -land lay. - -Farebrother stayed two weeks altogether at Corbin Hall on that visit; -and before he left Sir Archibald Corbin arrived. - -The status of affairs looked decidedly unpleasant to Sir Archy. After -he had been there a day or two, he went for a walk with Letty in the -woods--the very path they had taken that autumn evening two months -before--and Sir Archy presently demanded to know if she was engaged to -Farebrother. - -“What a very singular inquiry,” replied Letty, haughtily. “Surely you -can’t expect me to answer it.” - -“I would scarcely expect you to hesitate about denying it if it were -not true--and if it were true, and you kept it a secret, it would be a -very grave reflection on you, which I should be loath to entertain,” -responded Sir Archy, with equal haughtiness. - -“A reflection on me to be engaged to Mr. Farebrother,” cried Letty, -whirling around on him. - -“I meant, of course, secretly,” answered Sir Archy, stiffly. - -“Do you mean to say that I would be guilty of the shocking indelicacy -of proclaiming my engagement to the world--if I _were_ engaged to Mr. -Farebrother--as if I had just landed a big fish?” - -“Our ideas of delicacy differ widely. There seems to me an indelicacy -in a secret engagement.” - -Sir Archy was very angry--but Letty was simply boiling with rage. Both -were right from their respective points of view, but neither had the -slightest understanding of the other. - -After that there was no further staying at Corbin Hall for Sir Archy. -He escorted Letty to the door, and then tramped off to Shrewsbury and -sent for his luggage. - -The Chessinghams remained at the Romaine place for the present, -awaiting their speedy return to England. - -Letty went into the house, nearly crying with rage. Farebrother, who -was to leave the next day, met her and received the account, red-hot, -of Sir Archy’s rude remarks, with shouts of laughter which very much -offended Letty. - -“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” she said, with pretty sullenness. - -“I see everything to laugh at,” answered Farebrother, going off again. -He did not further explain the joke to Letty, who never quite fully -comprehended it. - -Sir Archy, stalking along toward Shrewsbury, smarting under his -disappointment--for he really admired Letty, and had fully meant to -offer her the chance of becoming Lady Corbin--yet felt a sort of -secret relief. Letty was the soul of bright purity, but as Sir Archy -philosophically argued, no matter how right people’s characters may be, -if their ideas are radically wrong, it sooner or later affects their -characters. - -“And that fatal want of prudence,” reasoned this English-minded -gentleman, “this recklessness concerning her relations with men, is a -most grave consideration. She appears totally unable to take a serious -view of anything in the relations of young men and women. Life seems to -be to her one long flirtation. And she may, of course, be expected to -keep this up after she is married. On the whole, although a fascinating -creature, I should call it a dangerous experiment to marry her.” - -So thought Sir Archy concerning Letty, who was of a type that is apt to -develop into the most cloying domesticity. - -Then his thoughts wandered to Ethel Maywood. He was too sincere and -too earnest a man to cast his heart immediately at Ethel’s feet--but -something in his glance that very night made Ethel and the Chessinghams -think that perhaps, in the end, Miss Maywood’s name might be Lady -Corbin. - -The first step toward this followed some days after. Sir Archy had -continued to stay at Shrewsbury, much to Colonel Corbin’s chagrin. He -had divined that there had been a falling out of some sort between -Letty and Sir Archy--but he was quite unable to get at the particulars. -Each professed a willingness to make up, and upon Sir Archy’s paying a -formal visit at Corbin Hall, Letty came down to see him and they were -stiffly polite. But their misunderstanding seemed, as it was, deep -rooted. Letty felt a profound displeasure with a man who could, even by -implication, accuse her of indelicacy--and Sir Archy had grave doubts -upon the score of Letty’s knowledge of good form, to put it mildly. - -It was on this subject that he grew confidential with Ethel, and made -the longest speech of his life. - -“You see,” he said, “at first I found those American young ladies who -imitate English girls rather a bore, as most of us do. When we go in -for an English girl, we like the real thing--sweet, genuine, and -wholesome. But at least the ideas of these pseudo-English girls are -correct. They are not flirts”--Sir Archy classed flirts as the feminine -form of barnburners and horse thieves--“and there’s nothing clandestine -in their way of arranging marriages. They are quite candid and correct -in that matter. They receive the attentions of men properly, and when -an engagement is made, it is duly and promptly announced. But my -cousin, Miss Corbin, has the most extraordinary notions on the subject -of the proprieties. She goes according to the rule of contrary. She -thinks it no harm to make eyes at every man she sees, without caring -a button about any one of them--and an engagement is a thing to be -concealed as if it were something to be ashamed of. I confess it -puzzles me.” - -“And it puzzles me, too,” replied Ethel. “Of course I know how -sincerely high minded Miss Corbin is, but, like you, I can’t reconcile -myself to her peculiar notions. Do you remember the evening we went to -the theater in New York and she wore that astonishing white gown?” - -“Yes--and uncommonly pretty she looked. But it was bad form--decidedly -bad form--and she never seemed to suspect it. My cousin is charming, -but unusual and unaccountable.” - -Which Miss Maywood felt a profound satisfaction in hearing. - -It was a month or two before the Chessinghams sailed. Although Mr. -Romaine’s affairs were so well arranged, the sale of the landed -property could not take place at once, and Chessingham concluded to -return to England, and come back in a year’s time to settle up the -small estate. The more he looked into it, the more convinced he was -that Mr. Romaine’s residuary legatee would get nothing, and that Mr. -Romaine knew it; and his object was merely that contrary impulse and -the natural perversity and desire to disconcert people which always -gave him acute delight. - -Colonel Corbin and Letty were sincerely sorry to part from the -Chessinghams, but Letty bore the coming privation of Miss Maywood’s -society with the utmost fortitude. When they went over to say good-by -on an early spring afternoon, Letty noticed a peculiarly joyous -look on Ethel’s fair face. In a little while she proposed a walk in -the old-fashioned garden. The two girls strolled together down the -box-edged walk, and passed under the quaint old arbors, heavy with -the yellow jessamine, just beginning then to show the faintly budding -leaves. There was something melancholy in the scene. The place had been -deserted for so long--and it was now for sale, with the prospect of -soon passing into other hands. The graveyard, with its high brick wall, -was just below the garden, and, although she could not see it, Letty -was conscious of a new white tombstone there with Mr. Romaine’s name -and “aged 58” engraved upon it--which last had caused Colonel Corbin -much dissatisfaction. But Chessingham preferred to carry out what he -knew to be Mr. Romaine’s wishes in the matter, and believed that his -ghost would have walked had his real age been proclaimed upon his -monument. - -As soon as the two girls were well in the garden, Ethel began, with a -glowing face: - -“I have had great happiness lately.” - -“Have you?” asked Letty, sympathetically. “What is it?” - -“I am engaged to Sir Archibald Corbin,” said Ethel, looking into -Letty’s face with a bright smile. Letty was so shocked by Miss -Maywood’s candor that she stood quite still, and said “Oh!” in a -grieved voice, which Miss Maywood took to mean regret at having lost -the prize. - -“As everybody knows you are engaged to Mr. Farebrother,” continued -Ethel, still smiling, and twisting off a twig of syringa that was at -hand, “you can’t grudge me my good fortune.” - -Grudge her her good fortune! And “everybody” knowing she was engaged -to Farebrother, when she had not breathed a word of it outside her -own family, albeit she had half her trousseau finished! Letty was so -scandalized by Miss Maywood’s brazen assurance, as she regarded it, -that she could only say, coldly: - -“I do not understand how ‘everybody’ can know that I am engaged to Mr. -Farebrother. Certainly I have never mentioned it, and I am sure that he -hasn’t.” - -“That’s only your odd Southern way,” answered Ethel, disapprovingly. - -Curiosity got the better of Letty’s disgust, and she asked, “How long -have you and my cousin been engaged?” - -“Only to-day,” calmly replied Ethel. “Reggie brought the letter from -the postoffice this morning, and I answered it at once. I also wrote -to England, in order to catch the next steamer. Sir Archy is in New -York, and won’t get my letter for two days perhaps. Reggie and Gladys -and I have talked over the engagement a little this afternoon. I -shall be married very quietly in the country--we have an uncle who is -a clergyman, and he has a nice parish, and will be glad to have me -married from the rectory--and Reggie and Gladys very sensibly don’t -expect me to marry a baronet from their London lodgings. Sir Archy was -very explicit in his letter about our future plans. He is willing to -spend a month in London this season, but he has been away so much he -feels it necessary to be at Fox Court in June--and he has taken a place -in Scotland from the 12th of August.” - -“But suppose you didn’t care to go to Scotland from the 12th of August? -And suppose you wanted to spend more than a month in London?” asked -Letty, much scandalized by these cut and dried proceedings. - -“Of course I should not make the slightest objection to any of Sir -Archy’s plans,” replied Ethel, wonderingly. - -“And he must have assumed a good deal,” suddenly cried Letty, bursting -out laughing. - -“He only assumed that I would act as any other sensible girl would,” -replied Ethel, calmly. “Sir Archy is a baronet of good family, suitable -age, and excellent estate. What more could a girl--and a girl in my -position--want?” - -“Nothing in the world, I fancy,” answered Letty, laughing still more; -and when the two girls had their last interview they misunderstood and -disesteemed each other more than at their first. - -Driving home through the odorous dusk, in the chaise by the Colonel’s -side, Letty pondered over the remarkable ways of some people. The idea -of a man dictating his plans to a woman before he married her--or -after, for that matter. Farebrother had asked her what she would like, -and their plans were made solely and entirely by Letty. “But I think,” -she reflected, as she laid her pretty head back in the chaise, “that I -would do whatever he asked me to do--because, after all, he is twice -the man that my cousin Archy is, and deserves to be loved twice as -much--” and “he” meant Farebrother, who was, at that very moment, -working hard for Letty in his office on a noisy New York thoroughfare. -And when his work was done, he turned for refreshment to a photograph -of her which he kept in that breast pocket reserved for such articles, -and gazed fondly at her face in its starlike purity--and then smiled. -He never looked at Letty or thought of her that, along with the most -tender respect, he did not feel like smiling; and Letty never could -and never did understand why it was that Farebrother found her such an -amusing study. - - - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] A ghost. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRANGE, SAD COMEDY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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