NOVEMBER came, that sunny autumn month in lower Virginia, when the changing woods glow in the mellow light, and a rich, blue haze envelops the rolling uplands; when the earth lies calm and soft, wrapped in the golden brightness of the day, or the cloudless splendor of the moon-lit night. The chirp of the partridge was heard abroad in the land, and that was the sign for Farebrother's arrival. An excursion down to Virginia after partridges concealed a purpose on his part toward higher game and a more exciting pursuit.
One day, though, two or three weeks before Farebrother's arrival, the Colonel received a marked copy of a newspaper. It contained the notice of the collapse of a bank in New York, in which the Farebrother family were large stockholders.
Then came a letter from Farebrother telling the whole story. By far the bulk of their fortune was gone, but there was still enough left for his mother and sisters to live comfortably.
"As for myself," he wrote, "without indulging in any cant or hypocrisy, I can say that the loss of what might have been mine has great compensations for me. I shall now be free to pursue my profession of architecture, which I love with the greatest enthusiasm. Formerly I was handicapped by being thought a rich man, and among my fellows in my trade it was always against me that I took money which I did not need. But now I am upon the same footing as the rest, and I shall have a chance to pursue it, not as a dilettante, but as a working member of a great profession. I have done some things that have been commended, and I have got engagements already, although I have not yet opened an office. But I have taken one in New York. So, although I suppose no man ever lost money who did not regret it, I can say, with great sincerity, that I know of no man who ever lost it to whom it was so slight a real loss."
Letty and the Colonel both liked Farebrother's letter; it was so straightforward and manly. The Colonel, with masculine fatuity, had suggested that Sir Archy and Farebrother should time their visit together. The truth was he did not relish the idea of tramping over meadows and through woods after partridges, nor did he think it hospitable to let one of his guests go alone, but two of them could get along very well, so he managed to ask them both at the same time. Neither one liked the arrangement when he found it out, but neither made any opposition.
Farebrother could not quite fathom how Sir Archy and Letty stood toward each other. Sir Archy had not indulged in any demonstrations toward her, except those that were merely friendly. Judged from the American point of view, his attentions were nothing. And to complicate matters, his following the Corbins and the Romaine party to New York might be understood as committing him as much to Miss Maywood as to Miss Corbin. The Chessinghams, Miss Maywood, and even Sir Archy himself regarded that New York trip as a very important and significant affair, and Sir Archy, not forgetting his British caution in love affairs, had at first congratulated himself that his motive might be supposed to be either one of the girls. But upon further reflection he rather regretted this. He knew that Letty attached not the slightest importance to anything a man might say or do short of an actual proposal.
But Ethel Maywood was different. She was of good family, accustomed to all the restrictions of a young English girl, and Chessingham was one of his best friends, so that it would be peculiarly awkward if his conduct had given rise to hopes that never could be realized.
There was no doubt in Sir Archy's mind, though, that he preferred Letty. He had heretofore felt, in all the slight fancies he had had for girls, a need for the greatest circumspection, for he was a baronet with a rent roll, and as such distinctly an eligible. But whether Letty would take him or not, he had not the remotest inkling. Sometimes he reasoned that the mere fact she exempted him to a certain degree from the outrageous coquetry she lavished on Farebrother might be a good sign. Again, he felt himself hopelessly out of the race. As for Miss Maywood, he had a half acknowledged feeling that if Letty did not take him Ethel had the next best claim. Of course he knew she would marry Mr. Romaine if he asked her. But this did not shock him, accustomed as he was to the English idea that there is a grave, moral obligation upon every girl to marry well if she can, without waiting for further eventualities.
The boat only came to the river landing twice a week, so that it happened very naturally both Sir Archy and Farebrother stepped off the steamer one November evening, and got into the rickety carriage drawn by the two showy bobtailed horses bought in New York, over which Dad Davy handled the ribbons. Dad Davy received the guests with effusion, and apologized for the restlessness of the horses.
"Dee ain' used ter de ways o' de quality yit. Quality folks' horses oughter know to stan' still an' do nuttin'; ole marse say dee warn't raise' by no gent'mun, an' dee k'yarn' keep quiet like er gent'mun's kerridge hosses oughter."
The horses started off at a rattling pace, and the carriage bumped along at such a lively rate over the country road that Sir Archy fully expected to find himself landed flat on the ground.
"I don't believe this old trap will ever get us to Corbin Hall," he said to Farebrother.
The two men were pleasant enough together, although each wished the other back in New York. Farebrother inquired about Mr. Romaine, and Sir Archy mentioned that the whole party would be down the next week.
It was quite dusk when the ramshackly old coach rattled and banged up to the door of Corbin Hall. The house looked exactly as it had on that November night ten years before, when Sir Archy had made his entry there.
The hall door was wide open, and from it poured the ruddy glow of the fire in the great drawing-room fire-place, and two candles sent a pale ray into the darkness. The Colonel stood waiting to receive them, with Letty and Miss Jemima in the background. When the two men alighted and entered the house, the Colonel nearly sawed their arms off.
"Delighted to see you, my dear young friends," he cried, "and most fortunate and agreeable for us all that you are here together."
The Colonel, in his simplicity, actually believed this. Miss Jemima's greeting and Letty's was not less cordial, and each of the two men would have felt perfectly satisfied under the circumstances but for the presence of the other.
The shabby, comfortable old library looked exactly as it had done ten years before. The identical square of rag carpet was spread over the handsome floor, polished by many decades of "dry rubbin'." Everything in the room that could shine by rubbing did so—for Africans were plentiful still at Corbin Hall. The brass fender and fire dogs, the old mahogany furniture, all shone like looking-glasses.
Miss Letty regulated her conduct toward her two admirers with the most artful impartiality, and both Sir Archy and Farebrother realized promptly that their visit was to be a season of enjoyment, and not of lovemaking—which last is too thorny a pursuit and too full of pangs and apprehensions to be classed strictly under the head of pleasure. Miss Jemima gave them a supper that was simply an epic in suppers—so grand, so nobly proportioned, so sustained from beginning to end. Afterward, sitting around the library fire, they had to hear a good many of the Colonel's stories, with Letty in a little low chair in the corner, her hands demurely folded in her lap, and the fire-light showing the milky whiteness of her throat and lights and shadows in her hazel eyes. Letty was very silent—for, being a creature of caprice, when she was not laughing and talking like a running brook, she maintained a mysterious silence. One slender foot in a black slipper showed from under the edge of her gown—the only sign of coquetry about her—for no matter how much Puritanism in air and manner Letty might affect, there was always one small circumstance—whether it was her foot, her hand, or her hair, or the turn of her head,—in which the natural and incorrigible flirt was revealed. The evening passed quickly and pleasantly to all. The Colonel would not hear of a week being the limit of their visit. Within a few days the Romaine party would be at Shrewsbury, and then there would be a "reunion," as the Colonel expressed it.
When Farebrother was consigned to his bed-room that night, with a huge four-poster like a catafalque to sleep in, and a dressing-table with a frilled dimity petticoat around it, and the inevitable wood-fire roaring up the chimney, he abandoned himself to pleasing reflections, as he smoked his last cigar. How pleasant, home-like, and comfortable was everything! Nothing was too good to be used—and the prevailing shabbiness seemed only a part of the comfort of it all. And Letty, like all true women, was more charming in her own home than anywhere else in the world.
Sir Archy, in the corresponding bed-room across the hall, with a corresponding catafalque, petticoated dressing-table, etc., likewise indulged in retrospection before he went to bed. He was not so easy in his mind—no man can be at peace who has two women in his thoughts. He was very sorry the Romaine party were coming. He had not discriminated enough in his attentions between Letty and Ethel Maywood, and the feeling that he might be playing fast and loose with Ethel troubled and annoyed him. But love with him was a much more prosaic and conventional matter, though not less sincere, than with Farebrother, who had the American disregard of consequences in affairs of the heart.
Next morning was an ideal morning for shooting. A white haze lay over the land, tempering the glory of the morning sun. The rime lay over the fields just enough to help the scent of the dogs, and there was a calm, chill stillness in the air that boded ill for partridges.
The Colonel turned his two young friends over to the care of Tom Battercake, and the trio started off accompanied by a good-sized pack of pointers. Sir Archy had on the usual immaculate English rig for shooting—immaculate in the mud and stains necessary for correct shooting clothes. His gun, game-bag, and whole outfit were as complete as if he had expected to be cast ashore on a desert island, with only his trusty weapon to keep him from starvation. Farebrother's gun, too, was a gem—but in other respects he presented the makeshift appearance of a man who likes sport, but does not affect it. His trousers, which had belonged, not to a shooting-suit, originally, but had attended first a morning wedding, were so shabby as to provoke Letty's most scathing sarcasm. His coat and hat were shocking, and altogether he looked like a tramp in hard luck. Tom Battercake, much to Sir Archy's surprise, was provided with an ancient and rusty musket of the vintage of 1840, with which he proposed to take a flyer occasionally. Sir Archy privately expressed his surprise at this to Farebrother, who laughed aloud.
"That 's all right down here," he said, still laughing. "There 's game enough for everybody—even the darkeys."
Sir Archy could not quite comprehend this—but he reflected that not much damage could be done by such a piece of ordnance as the old musket. However, he soon changed his mind—for Tom, by hook or by crook, managed to fill a gunny bag which he had concealed about his person quite as soon as Sir Archy and Farebrother filled their bags, and still he gave them all the best shots. Sir Archy's wrath was aroused by some of Tom's unique methods—such as knocking a partridge over with the long barrel of his musket as the bird was on the ground, and various other unsportsmanlike but successful devices. But there was no way of bringing Tom's iniquities home to him, who evidently considered the birds of the air were to be caught as freely as the fishes of the sea. So Sir Archy soon relapsed into silent disgust. He was a superb shot, but Tom Battercake fairly rivaled him, while Farebrother was a bad third. After tramping about all the morning, they sat down on the edge of the woods to eat the luncheon with which Miss Jemima had provided them. While they were sitting on the ground, Tom was noticed to be eying Sir Archy's beautiful gun with an air of longing. Presently he spoke up diffidently, scratching his wool.
"Marse Archy—please, suh—ain' you gwi' lem me have one shot outen dat ar muskit o' yourn?"
Sir Archy's first impulse was to throw the gun at Tom's woolly head, but on reflection he merely scowled at him. Farebrother laughed.
"There, you rascal," he said, "you may take my gun, and don't blow your head off with it."
Sir Archy was paralyzed with astonishment—not so Tom, who dashed for the gun and disappeared in the underbrush with Rattler, the dean of the corps of pointers at Corbin Hall. In a little while a regular fusillade was heard, and in half an hour Tom appeared with a string of partridges on his shoulder, and a broad grin across his face.
"Thankee, thankee, marster," he said to Farebrother, returning the gun. "Dat ar muskit o' yourn cert'ny does shoot good. I ain' never shoot wid nuttin' like her—an' ef dis nigger had er gun like dat, ketch him doin' no mo' wuk in bird time!"
Sir Archy forbore comment, but he concluded that American sport, like everything else American, was highly original and inexplicable.
The week passed quickly enough. Every day, when the weather was fine, they went out in the society of Tom Battercake. In the afternoon the lively horses were hitched up to some of the mediæval vehicles at Corbin Hall, and they took a drive through the rich, flat country, Letty being usually of the party. She was surprisingly well behaved, but Farebrother doubted if it was a genuine reform, and suspected truly enough that it was only one of Letty's protean disguises. When the week was out the Colonel would not hear of their departure, and Sir Archy promptly agreed to prolong his visit. Of course, when he decided to stay, Farebrother could not have been driven away with a stick. At the beginning of the second week Mr. Romaine, the Chessinghams and Miss Maywood arrived at Shrewsbury. Within a day or two the Colonel and Letty, and their two guests, set out one afternoon for Shrewsbury to pay their first call.
Instead of the picturesque shabbiness of Corbin Hall, Shrewsbury was in perfect repair. It was a fine old country house, and when they drove up to the door, it had an air of having been newly furbished up outside and in that was extremely displeasing to the Colonel.
"Romaine is an iconoclast, I see," he remarked, fretfully. "He is possessed with that modern devil of paint and varnish that is the ruin of everything in these days. The place looks quite unlike itself."
"But does n't it look better than it ever did?" asked Letty, who would have been glad to see some paint and varnish at Corbin Hall. This the Colonel disdained to answer.
They were ushered into a handsome and modernly furnished drawing-room by Mr. Romaine's own man, who wore a much injured expression at finding himself in Virginia and the country to boot. Newport suited his taste much better. The Colonel sniffed contemptuously at the Turkish rugs, divans, ottomans, lamps, screens and bric-à-brac that had taken the place of the ancient horsehair furniture. Letty looked around, consumed with envy and longing.
Presently Mr. Romaine appeared, followed by the Chessinghams and Ethel Maywood, who was looking uncommonly handsome. As soon as greetings were exchanged, the Colonel attacked Mr. Romaine about what he called his "vandalism" in refurnishing his house. Mr. Romaine laughed his peculiar low laugh.
"Why, if I had let that old rubbish remain here, which had no associations whatever, except that it was bought by my father's agent—a person of no taste whatever—I should have been constantly reminded of the flight of time, a thing I should always like to forget."
"Life, my dear Romaine," remarked the Colonel, solemnly, "is full of reminders of the flight of time to persons of our advanced years, and we have but a brief span in which to prepare for another world than this sublunary sphere."
At this Mr. Romaine, excessively nettled, turned to Letty and began to describe to her a very larky ballet he had witnessed in New York just before leaving for Virginia. Letty, in her innocence, missed the point of the story, which annoyed and amused Mr. Romaine. The Colonel by that time was deep in conversation with gentle Gladys Chessingham, whom he sincerely admired, and so did not catch Mr. Romaine's remarks, of which he would have strongly disapproved.
Among the four young people—Farebrother, Letty, Sir Archy and Ethel Maywood—a slight constraint existed. Each girl so resolutely believed in the falsity of the other's ideas where men were concerned that each was on the alert to be shocked. Sir Archy was wondering if his friends, the Chessinghams, were suspecting him of trifling with Ethel Maywood's feelings, and Farebrother was heartily wishing that Ethel would succeed in landing the baronet in her net, and so leave Letty for himself.
Nevertheless, they made talk naturally enough. Ethel was secretly much disgusted with the country as she saw it. There were few of the resources of English country life at hand, and as she had been educated to depending upon a certain round of conventional amusements to kill time, she was completely at a loss what to do without them. Reading she regarded as a duty instead of a pleasure. But with the class instincts of a well born English girl, she conceived it to be her duty to say she liked the country at all times, and so protested in her pretty, well-modulated voice. Sir Archy and Farebrother were temporary resources, but no more. As for Sir Archy, she regarded him as much more unattainable than he fancied himself to be. It would be too much good luck to expect for her to return to England as Lady Corbin of Fox Court, and so she dismissed the dazzling vision with a sigh, and made up her mind to fly no higher than Mr. Romaine. Letty wondered how the domestic machinery ran at Shrewsbury, with black servants picked up here and there in the country—for the Shrewsbury negroes, having no personal ties to the place, had scattered speedily after the war. Ethel soon enlightened her.
"Turner"—that was their maid—"is really excessively frightened at the blacks. They grin at her so diabolically, and she can't get rid of the impression that all blacks are cannibals, and as for Dodson and Bridge"—the two valets—"they do nothing but complain to Reggie, and he says he expects them both to give warning before the month is out."
"I should think they would," cried Letty, laughing, and realizing the woes of two London flunkies in a domestic staff made up of Virginia negroes.
"None of them can read a written order," continued Miss Maywood, who usually avoided the bad form of talking about servants, but who found present circumstances too over-powering for her. "The cook seems an excellent old person, not devoid of intelligence, although wholly without education—and as Reggie liked her way of preparing an omelette, I sent for her to write down the recipe. She came in, laughing as if it were the greatest joke in the world, called me 'honey' and 'child,' and I never could get out of her—although she talked incessantly in her peculiar patois—what I really wished to know."
This amused Sir Archy very much, who went on to relate his experiences with Tom Battercake.
But Mr. Romaine seemed to find Letty more than usually attractive, and soon established himself by her with an air of proprietorship that ran both Sir Archy and Farebrother out of the field altogether. He put on his sweetest manner for her; his fine black eyes grew more and more expressive, and he used upon her a great deal of adroit flattery which was not without its effect. He gave her to understand that he considered her quite a woman of the world. This never fails to please an ingénue, while it is always wise to tell a woman of the world that she is an ingénue. Letty really thought that her visit to Newport and her week or two in New York had made another girl of her. So it had, in one way. It had taught her a new manner of arranging her hair, and several schemes of personal adornment, and she had seen a few pictures and some artistic interiors. But Letty was a girl of robust and well-formed character before she ever saw anything of the outside world at all, and she was not easily swayed by any mere external influences; but she was acutely sensitive to personal influences, and she felt the individual magnetism of Mr. Romaine very strongly. Sometimes she positively disliked him, and thought he affected to be young, although nobody could say he was frivolous—and thought him hard and cynical and generally unlovely. But to-day she found him peculiarly agreeable—he artfully complimented her at every turn—he was unusually amusing in his conversation, and in fact laid himself out to please with a power that he possessed, but rarely exerted. He had seen in the beginning that Letty was prejudiced against regarding him as a youngish man, and this piqued him. He did not pretend, indeed, to be young, but he decidedly objected to be shelved along with the Colonel and other fossils—and as for Miss Jemima, who was a few months younger than himself, he treated her as if she had been his great-grandmother. This, however, did not disturb Miss Jemima's placidity in the least.
The visit was a long one, and it was quite dark before the ramshackly carriage rattled out of the gate toward Corbin Hall. Mr. Romaine had made them all promise to come again soon, and when they were out of hearing, Letty expressed an admiration for him which filled Farebrother with a sudden and excessive disgust.