Anne and I went to the Countess de Nemours' reception on Friday
night. We were all in a whirl of unfinished sentences when Miss
Dulany entered. I wish you might have seen her, as she came toward
us! Of course she was a very pretty child in North Carolina, but
she has developed into something really remarkable. She wore white,
décolleté, with her hair Madonna-wise. And she has such
distinction! Such repose! Truly, Frank, she came in so quietly that
she made every one else seem to enter on horseback.
Coming directly toward me, she said: "Perhaps you do not remember
me, Mrs. Ravenel! I am Katrine Dulany. My father was overseer of
your plantation, in North Carolina, for nearly three years." It was
as though Mary Queen of Scots had come to life and asked me if I
remembered when she was my parlor-maid!
And she stayed and talked to me with sweetest deference and an
appeal in her eyes, and I went home quite exalted to think this
much-desired person had singled me out for such marked attention.
But during the night (and oh, my little, little boy! you will
forgive me if what I write hurts you, won't you?) I awoke
suddenly, and it seemed that everything was clear to me. I recalled
your story of loving the woman whom you didn't think it right for
you to marry, of your inexplicable stay at Ravenel through an
entire summer, your depression afterward, and your sudden plunge
into business. I couldn't help putting these things together and
believing that this little Irish girl was the woman in the case.
But if you don't want me to know, I _won't_ know. I never knew
anything you didn't want me to. That's a mother's way. And don't
say a word about the matter to me unless you care to. Believe me,
boy of my heart, I will respect your silence.
It is three months since you have been here. Miss Dulany sings on
the 23d. Can't you come over? Every one is going, and we have taken
a box. Do come.