She laid down her exquisite embroidery. “It has been thought a place
worth seeing. There is no town of such historic interest at the North.”
Standing by my chair, I assured her that I did not think there could be.
“I heard you allude to my half-sister-in-law, Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael.
It was at the house where she now lives that the famous Miss Beaufain
(as she was then) put the Earl of Mainridge in his place, at the
reception which her father gave the English visitor in 1840. The Earl
conducted himself as so many Englishmen seem to think they can in this
country; and on her asking him how he liked America, he replied, very
well, except for the people, who were so vulgar.
“‘What can you expect?’ said Miss Beaufain; ‘we’re descended from the
English.’”
“But I suppose you will tell me that your Northern beauties can easily
outmatch such wit.”
I hastened to disclaim any such pretension; and having expressed my
appreciation of the anecdote, I moved to the door as the stately lady
resumed her embroidery.
My hostess had a last word for me. “Do not let the cake worry you.”
Outside the handsome old iron gate I looked at my watch and found that
for this day I could spend no more time upon visiting.