On Christmas-eve, after dinner, as General and Mrs. Gaston, Miss
Trevennon and Mr. Louis Gaston were seated around the drawing-room
fire, a card of invitation was brought in by Thomas, and delivered to
General Gaston. As he took it and scanned it through his glasses, a
perceptible gleam of satisfaction came into his eyes, and he handed it
to Mrs. Gaston, saying:
“A card for General Morton’s supper.”
“Indeed!” returned his wife, with a reflection of his gratified
expression. “Really, this is very kind.”
As she took the card and looked at it, Margaret surveyed her
wonderingly. Turning her eyes away from her cousin’s face, an instant
later, she saw that Louis Gaston was regarding her with a sort of
deprecating amusement. He was seated near to her, and so he alone
distinguished her words, when she murmured, in an undertone:
“‘How strange are the customs of France’!”
She smiled as she said it, and Cousin Eugenia, who saw the smile, but
missed the words she had uttered, said explainingly:
“This supper of General Morton’s is an annual affair. He has given one
on New Year’s night ever since he has been in Washington. They are
limited to twenty-five gentlemen, and of course these are carefully
selected. It is always the most _recherché_ stag-party of the season,
and one is sure of meeting there the most distinguished and agreeable
people the city will afford. He has always been so kind in asking
Edward, though of course the invitations are greatly in demand, and
residents cannot always expect to receive them.”
Nothing further was said about the matter just then, but it was
evident that this attention from General Morton had put Mrs. Gaston in
unusually high spirits, and her husband, on his part, was scarcely less
elated.
A little later, when Louis and Margaret happened to be alone, the
former said:
“I wish you would tell me what it was that amused you about that
invitation. The system of social tactics, of which you are the
exponent, begins to interest me extremely. What was it that brought
that puzzled look to your face just now?”
“Shall I really tell?” the girl asked, doubtfully.
“Pray do--frankly. I’m so interested to know.”
“I was wondering who this General Morton could be, that a card to his
supper should be deemed such an acquisition. I have discovered the
fact that you Gastons are proud of your lineage, and, as I have heard
it said that yours is one of the few really historical families of
America, perhaps it should not be wondered at. Who then, can General
Morton be, I was thinking, to be in a position to confer honor on the
Gastons? I suppose he’s some one very grand, but I’m such an ignoramus
that I really don’t know who the Mortons are, when they’re at home.”
“I believe Morton’s origin was very common,” said Louis. “Certainly,
he has no sort of claim to aristocratic distinction. He has a high
official position and is very rich and a very good-natured, sensible
sort of man, but it is out of the question that he could, socially
speaking, confer honor upon my brother.”
“And yet it was evident,” began Margaret--but she stopped abruptly, and
Louis made no motion to help her out.
“Do you know,” he said, presently, “that, through your influence,
Miss Trevennon, I have been gradually undergoing certain changes in
my points of view. I am getting an insight into your social basis
and system, and, stubborn Yankee as I am, I must admit that there’s
something fine in it. I really think I begin to feel myself veering
perceptibly. Until I met you, I had no idea what a difference there was
between the Northern and Southern ideas of these matters.”
“But I must not be taken as a strict representative of the Southern
idea--nor you, I suppose, for a strict representative of the Northern
idea,” said Margaret. “At home, they think me a great radical. I have
no special respect for pedigrees in general. That one’s forefathers
should have been honest is the first thing, it seems to me, and that
they should have been social luminaries should come a long way after.”
“You rather amaze me in that,” said Louis. “I thought there were no
sticklers for birth and ancestry like the Southerners.”
“It is perfectly true of a large class of them,” said Margaret; “but
I have seen too much of the degeneration of distinguished families in
the South, to have much sympathy with that idea. In too many cases
they have lacked the spirit to save them from such degeneration, and,
that being the case, what does their blood go for? It ought to go for
nothing, I think--worse than nothing, for if it has any virtue at all,
it should make its possessors independent and manly.”
“You have sometimes sneered a little gentle sneer at the Gaston
pride--have you not?” said Louis; “and I’ve sometimes thought it odd,
because I had always been told that the pride of the Southern people is
unprecedented.”
“It is of a different sort,” said Margaret; “for instance----”
But she checked herself, and colored.
“Oh, pray give me the example,” said Louis, earnestly. “Illustrations
are such helps. I beg you will not let any over-sensibility prevent
your speaking plainly. It may be that you’ve got the best of these
social questions. I want to be able to judge.”
“How honest and fair you are!” said Margaret, “and how rare that spirit
is! I really think I’ll tell you frankly what I was going to say. You
know what an appreciation of your brother I have, and how entirely his
fine qualities command my respect, but I will not deny that his bearing
in the matter of this invitation has amazed me. I think I am safe in
saying that no Southern man, in your brother’s sphere of society,
could possibly be found--no matter how insulated or behind the times
he might be--no matter how poor or incapable or ignorant, who could be
agitated and flattered by an invitation from General Morton or General
anybody else. The notion would never penetrate their brains. But I am
very bold,” she said, checking herself suddenly. “I am afraid I have
said too much.”
“It would be too much for any one else to say to me certainly,” said
Louis, looking steadily at her, “and I cannot say the idea you suggest
is exactly palatable; but I think I could hardly take offence at words
of yours.”
At that moment the door-bell rang, and presently Thomas announced
General Reardon.
“Generals seem to be the order of the day,” said Margaret, with a
smile, as the visitor was crossing the hall. “I might be back in
Bassett for the prevalence of titles.”
Miss Trevennon greeted General Reardon with great cordiality, and
set herself at once to the task of entertaining him. He called only
occasionally at the Gastons’ house, as he did not enjoy their society
any more than they did his. He had been in the United States Army
before the war, and had been extremely popular among the officers,
being possessed of a fund of anecdote and humor, which congealed
instantly in the atmosphere of the Gastons’ drawing-room, but flowed
freely enough in camps and barracks. He was of a good Southern family,
and essentially a gentleman. His visits, as has been indicated,
were not especially inspiring to the Gastons, but Cousin Eugenia
had detected in her husband a faint tendency to slight this distant
cousin of hers, and it was just like her, after that, to treat him
with greater distinction. General Gaston, in truth, found it a little
difficult to ignore the fact that he was an officer in the Federal army
who had gone with the South, and certainly did not enjoy his visits;
but he stood in some awe of his wife, which enabled him partially to
conceal the fact that he chafed under her cousin’s companionship.
When Thomas had summoned his master and mistress to the drawing-room,
Mrs. Gaston seated herself near General Reardon, and at once fell into
fluent conversation with him. General Gaston, for his part, established
himself half-way between this couple and the pair who were seated on
the other side of the fire-place. He sat very straight and erect in his
chair, occasionally making a rather forced remark to General Reardon,
who, in his turn, was conscious of being bored and ill at ease, but
entirely unconscious of being the object of any slight whatever. It
occurred to him, perhaps, that his host’s manner was peculiar, even
unfortunate, but it would have taken a great deal to convey to his
honest breast the suspicion that any gentleman alive could mean to
slight a visitor in his own house.
Mrs. Gaston, when she chose, could talk agreeably to any one on almost
any subject, and she was now discussing crops and market-gardening,
and listening, with great vivacity of expression, to a detailed account
that General Reardon was giving of the reports his wife--whom he called
“Loose,” her name being Lucy--related of the result of a little venture
in the way of a market-garden which they had made.
“By-the-way, General,” said the visitor, breaking off suddenly from
his conversation with Mrs. Gaston, and turning to address her husband,
as if struck with a sudden thought; “are you invited to this supper of
General Morton’s?”
Imperceptible bristles began to rise over General Gaston’s surface. He
drew himself still more erect, and cleared his throat once or twice
before answering.
“Ah--I beg your pardon--ah--yes,” said General Gaston, with an
inflection that suggested that he was rather asking a question than
answering one. He cleared his throat again and went on, with a certain
superciliousness that Margaret noted carefully. “General Morton has
been kind enough to remember me and send me a card. There is always
a very distinguished company at these suppers of his, and I shouldn’t
think of missing this.”
“Loose wants me to go,” responded General Reardon, in indolent,
indifferent tones that set Margaret’s blood a-tingling with delight;
“but I don’t care anything about it. I s’pose the men’ll all wear
swallow-tails, and I haven’t got one. I’ll tell Morton he’ll have to
let me off.--What I was going to tell you about the potato crop, is
this,” he said, returning to his conversation with Mrs. Gaston, as
being the more interesting of the two. “Loose says, if we’d planted
Early Rose----”
But Margaret listened no further. She knew Louis was looking at her,
and she had drawn down the corners of her mouth, demurely, in her
efforts not to laugh; but her eyes brimmed over with such sparkling
merriment, that the mouth’s quiescence went for little.
Mr. Gaston presently drew out his watch, and reminded Miss Trevennon
of the fact that it was nearly time to set out for the theatre, in
fulfilment of their engagement, so she excused herself, and went to put
on her wraps.
When the two young people found themselves alone together, in the
clear, bracing atmosphere of the city streets--they had chosen to
walk--Margaret began the conversation by saying:
“Alan Decourcy called while we were out driving this morning. I hope we
shall not happen to be in view of the theatre-party to night; it would
be a little awkward, as we both refused to join it.”
“Not at all,” said Louis, “they need never know but that our engagement
antedated their invitation. Don’t give yourself any uneasiness about
that.”
When they had gone on a few moments in silence, Louis said in his
pleasant voice, which even in the darkness indicated that he was
smiling:
“Well, you had your little triumph this evening!”
“I did,” returned Margaret, with a soft, little laugh, “and I must
say I enjoyed it. But I was wondering how he happened to know General
Morton.”
“Oh, I dare say they were chums in the United States Army, before the
war,” said Louis. “Only think what a chance that man threw away! Why,
if he had remained in the Union army he might have been a Major-General
by this time.”
“He is a Major-General, I think,” said Margaret, demurely; “or is it
only a Brigadier?”
“You impertinent little rebel!” said Louis. “How dare you say that to
me? How do you know I will submit to such audacity? You make heavy
draughts upon my clemency.”
“I’m afraid I do,” said Margaret; “but I’ve always had them generously
honored. But while we are on the subject, there’s one thing that I do
want to say to you. Do you know, I have observed that your brother
never gives General Reardon his title? In speaking of him to me or
Cousin Eugenia, he always says ‘your cousin,’ and in speaking to him
he avoids calling him anything at all. Once only, when he had to say
something, he called him ‘Mr. Reardon.’ He did indeed!”
“Well, in point of fact, you know,” said Louis, rather uncomfortably,
“he’s got no more right to the title of General than you have. The
point has been definitely decided. It is only a matter of courtesy.”
“I don’t know who had the power to decide it,” Margaret said; “but we
are not considering the point of legal right. Its being, as you admit,
a matter of courtesy, should settle the thing, I think. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, “I do. I’m not sure I always thought so, but I do now.”
When they reached the theatre, they found the overture just begun. A
few minutes later they saw Mrs. Vere’s party enter and place themselves
in their box. The dashing young hostess led the way, and seated herself
_en évidence_, with a brilliant party grouped about her. One or two
of these Margaret recognized, and Louis knew them all, naming them,
without comment, to Margaret. There was some one whom they did not
see, sitting in the shadow behind the curtain, and to this person Mrs.
Vere directed a greater part of her attention. She constantly leaned
to speak to him, or bowed her head to catch his utterances, casting
toward him now and then the languishing looks which her peculiarly long
eyelashes rendered so effective. Margaret felt that this person was
Alan Decourcy, and at the end of the first act her suspicion was proved
to be correct, as he then rose and came to Mrs. Vere’s side to take a
survey of the house. He looked very graceful and elegant, but, in some
way, the great charm his appearance had once possessed for her was gone.
When she turned her eyes away from him, they rested, almost without
any volition of her own, upon Louis Gaston’s quiet profile. He was
looking away from her, and so she could scan at leisure the earnest
lineaments that had in them a genuineness and nobleness so much better
than beauty. The more she felt her disappointment in Alan Decourcy,
the more she believed in and rested upon Louis Gaston’s friendship.
Imperceptibly her regard for him had widened and deepened, until now
merely to think of him was to feel peaceful and safe and at rest.