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.