telling me. Though I don't believe you've ever realized that I've
resented the way you've taken me for granted, you and Cousin Maria, and
Auntie, and, yes, even Papa. But that's not what I want to speak about.
It's this. There's no power in heaven or earth right now could make me
marry either you or Tuttle! If he asks me to-day, and I won't hold him
off any longer, I'll say so to him. When I come to marrying, I see it
perfectly clearly and of a sudden to-day, it's going to be beyond any
imagining or shade of possibility that's it's because it's a solution
for me! I'm finding myself a little bit these days. I'm going to prove
what I've found now. When I come to marry, it's going to be because I
choose to give up independence to do it. How I'll get the independence
I'm sure I don't know now, but I will get it," piteously. Then,
"Culpepper, Oh, Culpepper," beseechingly as she turned toward him, a
cry as from one bereft and needing help, "_don't_ you see? _Can't_ you
see? Put yourself where _I_ am, and understand _for_ me!"
They were crossing the home corner now. Tuttle and his glittering
show were wheeling in at the curb before the ugly little house. The
neighborhood surreptitiously was at its windows. The breeched and
booted groom had leaped down.
It was this Tuttle up on the box who wouldn't shame his God by meeting
him with anything less than entire correctness. Selina would try not to
fail this kindly Tuttle now.
"Coming," she called with pretty gayety to the company aloft as she
came in speaking distance, with a lift and a flirt of her parasol
before surrendering it to Culpepper for lowering.
Then to Culpepper imploringly. "Speak to Mamma and Auntie for me and
reassure them about Papa, won't you, Culpepper? I'll have no chance."
The coach was stationary at the curb, and so by now were Selina and
Culpepper. He was big and splendid; she was slim and fair. Greetings
were pelting down on them, and Tuttle with an eye on his horseflesh had
risen on the box.
"No," from Selina to Tuttle aloft, "don't get down. Or _can_ Jehu on
the box get down? Culpepper'll put me up. Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Sampson,
Miss Lyle, Mr. Haven, you all up there know Mr. Buxton? I've never
mounted a coach before, and I'm horribly afraid I'll perpetrate what a
friend of my youth, when she sprained her ankle, called a _faux pas_.
Do give me your hand, Culpepper, and put me up?"
Blessed child!
And did her hand, as he took it, close on his for the instant,
beseechingly as it were? Those soft fingers of hers cling to his? Hold
to his as though loath to leave them?
He must have thought they did, for after he had put her up on the
box to the place directed by Tuttle beside himself, pretty creature
that she was, still tremulous but bravely gay with it to wring your
heartstrings, this Culpepper made pretence of need for more care of
her, and swinging up on the step to arrange her skirt from chance
contact with any brake or such matter, whispered softly up in the
vernacular he kept for her and ole Miss.
"Honey!"
[Illustration: "Everybody waved and Culpepper was left standing
there."]
And the while a chorus was chanting from the back seats, "Listen to us,
Selina! Listen, Selina! _Have_ you heard about Amanthus? Turn around
and listen to us! _Have_ you heard about Amanthus?"
And here Mrs. Jones, leaning forward, addressed herself to Culpepper
down again on the curb. "Mr. Buxton I seem to remember that Mr. Tate is
a friend of yours? Have _you_ heard about Amanthus?"
The chorus resumed itself, arising from Mrs. Sampson, Miss Lyle, and
Mr. Haven behind Mrs. Jones.
"Go on."
"Don't keep 'em waiting."
"Tell 'em about Amanthus."
"Amanthus," said Mrs. Jones, "was married at St. George's in London,
yesterday, to Mr. Cyril Doe. A cable from Mrs. Harrison to her bank,
which is Tuttle's bank, came to-day."
Amanthus had lived up to _her_ business in life!
* * * * *
The whip touched the leader, the coach wheeled, everybody waved, and
Culpepper was left standing there.
Auntie called to him from the door. She had seen him from the window
and come down. He went in to her there on the doorstep and put his arm
around her and kissed her.
"Ole Miss, what do you suppose, I've just been given to cherish most of
everything in the world?"
"Are you in earnest, Culpepper, or teasing? I never know. I'm a bit
unstrung, and so's Lavinia, over this trouble, whatever it is, hanging
over Robert. What is it that's been given to you to cherish?"
She spoke with concern.
"Don't you worry, ole Miss, it's mine for cherishing, not yours. You're
no worry. _You_ belong to another generation in daughters of Shiloh
that did your dancing in your vineyard according to custom, and have
nothing to reproach _your_ past with. The daughters of Shiloh to-day
are declining to dance, ma'am, and are plucking the grapes in the
vineyard instead. I need your coddling and your comforting. A daughter
of Shiloh, among the dancers and the grapes, has handed me for my
cherishing fruit of her gathering called a point of view."
"Whatever do you mean, Culpepper? I never know when you're in earnest,
or not?"
"She thinks _she_ is, ole Miss, that fair young daughter of Shiloh. I
don't know just what to think, myself!"
"Are you speaking of Selina, Culpepper?"
"Who else? Ole Miss, I love her so and I want her. Where'd she pick up
this whim?"
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
-Obvious print and punctuation errors fixed.
-A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been
produced and added by Transcriber.