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.