"Ah am Mrs. DeVere," she said. "Come in, and look out for that dam
mule. I can't keep him out of the house."
I went in the parlor and looked about me in amazement. The room was
magnificently furnished, but I could see the Southern sloth and
carelessness visible everywhere. A wheelbarrow full of dried mortar
stood in one corner that had been left there when the masons built the
house. Five or six chickens were roosting on the piano and a pair of
pants were hanging on the chandelier.
Mrs. DeVere had a pale, aristocratic face, with Grecian features, and
snowy hair arranged carefully in becoming ringlets. She was dressed in
black satin and wore flashing diamonds on her hands and at her throat.
Her eyes were black and piercing and her eyebrows dark. As I took my
seat, she drew a long piece of plug tobacco from a silver card
receiver, and bit off a chew.
"Do you indulge?" she asked smilingly.