CHAPTER V.
Miracles usually happen in cycles. They unquestionably did in the Severnneighborhood. Before the hurricane of talk over Throckmorton's arrival,Jack's audacity, and Sweeney's brogue had fairly reached a crisis, aletter came one day to General Temple, from his nephew, Temple Freke,announcing his intention of paying a visit to his dear uncle and aunt atBarn Elms.
General Temple handed the letter to Mrs. Temple with a sort of groan.
"This is he--I mean, my love, this is most discomposing."
At this Mrs. Temple shook her head in a manner expressing perfectdespair. The problem whether Throckmorton should be admitted within thedoors of Barn Elms was a mere nothing compared with this. Both of themfirmly believed in a personal devil; and Temple Freke, with hisextravagance, his vices, his unprincipled behavior, stood for Satanhimself. This Freke was very unlike the conservative, home-keeping typeof a gentleman that prevailed in Virginia. He was born and brought upin Louisiana, and was fifteen years old when, by the death of hisfather, General Temple became his guardian, and he was brought to BarnElms to lead the staid Beverley into all sorts of scrapes, and totorment General Temple's honest soul almost to madness. The elder Freke,perhaps, knowing the boy's disposition, had made General Temple'sguardianship to extend until Temple Freke's twenty-fifth birthday.
Of the horrors of that guardianship, nobody but the kind andsimple-hearted general could tell--of Freke's extravagance, of hisgambling and betting and drinking, and one frightful scene, when Freke,with a loaded pistol in his hand, swore that, unless a certain debt ofhonor was paid, he would kill himself on the spot; and General Temple,who was not easily frightened, promptly paid it, with the convictionthat the young fellow was quite capable of carrying out the threat.Immediately after this, General Temple shipped him off to Europe, butapparently it made bad worse. For six whole years was General Templecommanding, entreating, praying, and wheedling to get Freke back toVirginia. It was true, he might have cut off supplies, but Freke made nobones of saying that, if he couldn't get his own money, he wouldcontrive to get somebody else's; so the poor general, with groans andmoans, would cash Freke's drafts on him as long as money could bescrewed out of the Louisiana sugar plantations to do it with.
But, as Mrs. Temple often said, Freke was unquestionably a gentleman; hewas mild-mannered to a degree, and his very impertinences were broughtout with a diffidence that frequently hoodwinked General Temple. He wasnot nearly so handsome as Beverley, being much shorter and sandy-haired,in contrast with Beverley's blonde beauty; but Mrs. Temple alwaysfelt in the old days, with a little pang of jealousy, that thisordinary-looking boy, with his exquisite manners--not the least affectedor effeminate, but simply the perfection of personal bearing--could putBeverley at a disadvantage. The two had little in common, and had nevermet after their school-days, when General Temple, in the innocence ofhis heart, had sent Freke abroad, to reform, until the very time ofBeverley's death. Freke, whose courage was as flawless in its way asGeneral Temple's, had come home during the war and enlisted in theSouthern army. A strange fate had placed him close to Beverley when hewas killed. He had held Beverley's dying hand, and to him were intrustedthe last messages to the mother and the young wife, who waited andprayed at Barn Elms. Nothing on earth but this could have brought Mrs.Temple to tolerate Freke at all, after the sensational career whichhad begun with the pistol scene. Moreover, to increase the abnormalconditions about this unregenerate being, as the Temples consideredhim, he was perfectly irresistible. How it was, General Temple gloomilydeclared, he didn't know, but Freke had the most extraordinary way ofinsinuating himself into the good graces of both men and women--notby any affectation of goodness, for there was a frankness about hiswickedness that was peculiarly appalling to General Temple. Freke was nohandsomer as a man than as a boy; he had been steadily making ducks anddrakes of his fortune since he was twenty-five; yet, somehow, Frekealways seemed to have a plenty of friends, solely by the charm of hispersonality. The most serious escapade that had come to General Temple'sknowledge since Freke was of age was his running away with a Cuban girlin New Orleans, and afterward getting a divorce by some hocus-pocus, andthereafter, with serene confidence, he bore himself as an unmarried man.Now, divorce was practically unknown in that old part of Virginia, andthe Temples regarded it as in the category with murder and arson; sothat this final iniquity of Freke's would have quite put him beyond thepale, but for those hours he spent kneeling on the ground with the dyingBeverley.
General Temple had a sort of Arab hospitality that would not havebegrudged itself to the Evil One himself, and to tell Freke that he wasnot welcome under the roof of Barn Elms, where his grandfather and hisgrandfather's father had lived, was an enormity of which he was notcapable. And Mrs. Temple was no manner of use to him in the case. Invain he tried to shuffle the decision off on her. Mrs. Temple wouldnot accept it. Like the general, she sighed and groaned, and turned itover in her mind; but always came back that picture of Beverley lyingbleeding and dying, and Freke risking his life to stay by him. So atlast, after a week of mutual misery, one night, in the privacy of the"charmber," Mrs. Temple, watching the general stalking up and downduring one of his fits of midnight restlessness, said, tremulously:
"My love, we must let Freke come. We can not refuse it--for--forBeverley's sake."
So the next morning a letter was dispatched to Freke, written by GeneralTemple with considerably less cordiality than usual, and very feeblerhetorically, expressing the pleasure his uncle and aunt felt at theprospect of a visit from their nephew.
The next day, as soon as the direful news of his coming was made knownto Jacqueline, she rushed off, as she always did, to give Judith thestartling information.
Judith heard it with a strange feeling of repulsion, which she at firstimagined was that infinite disapproval she felt for Freke; but, if hecame, all of that terrible story about Beverley would have to be toldover. Judith had not yet come to a clear understanding of herself, butshe had begun to shrink from that dwelling on Beverley which seemed togive Mrs. Temple such exquisite comfort.
"Everything that looked at Freke fell in love with him," announcedJacqueline. "Of course, he is as handsome as a dream--something like Mr.Morford, I dare say."
There were two or three faded photographs of him at Barn Elms, and noneof them gave the idea of great beauty; but photographs in those dayswere not very artistic reproductions.
Judith laughed a little uneasily.
"I wish he wern't coming, Jacky," she said. "He is too--too startling aperson for quiet people like ourselves. There is one comfort, though: hewill soon get tired of us."
Within a week or two came a very well-expressed letter from Freke,thanking his uncle and aunt for their hospitable invitation, and sayingthat on a certain day he would land from the river steamer at Oak Point.Jacqueline was immensely taken with the letter, which was written onpaper the like of which she had never seen before, and was sealed with acrest.
Two immense trunks arrived in advance of the expected visitor. Mrs.Sherrard happened to be at Barn Elms when the luggage appeared. Mrs.Temple's face expressed her misery.
"Jane, you have my sympathy. A more unmitigated scamp than Freke doesn'tlive," was Mrs. Sherrard's remark.
"Kitty," feebly protested Mrs. Temple, "he is my husband's nephew."
"The more's the pity."
As a rule, the reputation of incalculable wickedness hurts nobody, inthe opinion of the very young. The more Mrs. Temple preached and warned,holding on to that one saving clause, Freke's devotion to Beverley inhis dying hours, the more attractive he seemed to Jacqueline. At lastone afternoon, when the carriage returned from Oak Point Landing withthe much-talked-of Freke, Jacqueline, who had been curling her hair andprinking all day for the visitor, came down into the drawing-room, andthe expression of acute disappointment on her face said loudly:
"Is this all?"
For Freke was neither surpassingly handsome nor any of the superlativethings Jacqueline had fondly imagined him t
o be. He was not even ashandsome as Throckmorton, and Jacqueline thought him no beauty. Frekewas under middle height, and his hair was as sandy as of old, and nottoo abundant. His features were ordinary; and Jacqueline, not being aphysiognomist, did not take in the piercing expression, the firmness andintelligence that redeemed them from commonplaceness. He did lookunmistakably the gentleman, Jacqueline grudgingly admitted. _This_ theadorable, the irresistible, the--But Jacqueline was too disgusted tocontinue.
Freke, who read Jacqueline like an open book, and suspected the advanceimpression she had received, could hardly keep from laughing out aloudat the girl's air and manner. He talked a little to her, somewhat moreto Judith, but chiefly to Mrs. Temple.
It was late in the afternoon when he had arrived, and tea was soonannounced. Directly it was over, Mrs. Temple marshaled a solemnprocession into "the charmber" to hear Freke's description of Beverley'slast hours. She went first with Judith, followed by Freke and GeneralTemple. Mrs. Temple had tried to get Jacqueline to come, too, butJacqueline, who had a horror of weeping and tragedies, begged off; andMrs. Temple, who really attached but little importance to the girl atany time, did not press the point. The door of the room remained closedfor two hours. Jacqueline, who had got tired of Delilah's company andthe cat's, went up-stairs early, but not to bed. She waited until sheheard Judith's door open, and then went and knocked timidly at the door.
"Come in," said Judith, in an unfamiliar voice. Judith was sittingbefore her dressing-table, and had already begun to unbraid her long,rich hair. But her eyes were fixed with a hard, staring gaze on her ownimage in the glass. The mother had wept at Freke's recital; the widowhad remained pale, tearless, and turning over in her troubled mind theimmaturity, the transitoriness of that first girlish love-affair thathad resulted, as so few first loves do, in a sudden marriage--a quickwidowhood. And she had a terrifying sense that she had betrayed herselfto Freke. There was one particular point in the narrative, when hedescribed how the dead man had got his death-wound. Beverley had runacross a small body of Federal cavalrymen, himself with only an advanceguard, and, _a la_ General Temple, had immediately dashed at them, as ifa cavalry scrimmage would affect one iota the great fight that wasimpending the next day. Beverley himself had engaged in a hand-to-handtussle with a Federal officer--both of them had rolled off their horses,and the struggle between them was more like Indian warfare thancivilized warfare--and Freke described, with cruel particularity, howthe two men fought in the underbrush, and crushed the wild rose andhawthorn bushes, each one trying vainly to draw his pistol--and at lasta shot rang out, and Beverley turned over on his face with a wild shriekand a death-wound. The Federal officer had got his arm entangled in hisbridle-reins, and Freke thought every moment the excited horse wouldtrample the wounded man to death; and then, a squad of Confederatescoming up, the Federals had made off, the officer mounting his horse andgetting out of the way with nothing worse than a few bruises. All thetime he was telling this he was eying Judith, who did not shed a singletear. Mrs. Temple wept torrents, and even so did General Temple. Forpoor Judith, whose reading of Freke was not less keen than his readingof her, it was misery enough to feel that, after all, her widowhood wasnot very real, and that the mourning, the entire giving up of the world,the devotion to Beverley's parents, was, in some sort, a reparation; butthat it should escape her--for Judith with the eagerness to make amends,of a generous nature, had readily adopted Mrs. Temple's view--that itwas a crime not to mourn for Beverley.
Jacqueline slipped down on her knees beside Judith, and, nodding herhead, gravely said:
"Mamma didn't get _me_ into the room. Ah, Judy, dear, why won't they letus forget him--"
"Jacqueline!" cried Judith, turning a pale, shocked face on her.
"I say," persisted Jacqueline, who had one of her sudden fits ofcourage, "why do they trouble us to remember him? I hardly knew him; hewas always off at college, and then in the war; why won't they let usmourn decently for him? And then--and then--everybody wants to forgetgriefs. I do."
Judith rose and shook her off impatiently. "I wish Temple Freke hadnever come here," she said.
"I do, too," answered Jacqueline, getting up. "I am afraid of him. OJudith, what two poor creatures are we!"
"I know I am," suddenly cried Judith, breaking into a storm of tears. "Iknow there is no peace for me anywhere!--" Judith stopped as suddenly asshe had begun. How could she put it in words, the ghastliness of thisperpetual reminder of that which in her heart she longed to forget--thisfeeling that had been growing on her for so long, that she ought to feelmore remorse for marrying Beverley Temple than grief at losing him--thatall this solemn mourning for him was like those state funerals, wherethere is a great service, a catafalque, a coffin, mourners--everythingexcept a corpse? And to her candid soul how wicked, heartless, andunnatural it seemed! Jacqueline's eyes, so full of meaning and fixed onher, troubled her. She got up after a minute and walked over to thewindow. The red glow of the fire and the dim candle-light did notprevent her from seeing clearly into the moonlight night. She drew theold-fashioned white curtains apart and looked out. The somber treesloomed large and black, but up on the hill, a quarter of a mile away,the light from Millenbeck gleamed cheerfully. From two windows on thelower floor and two on the upper, as well as the great fan- andside-lights of the hall-door, a ruddy glare streamed steadily. PresentlyJacqueline came and stood by Judith, timidly.
"Do you know," she said, "it seems queer that three strangers shouldcome into our lonely lives--in this quiet life here? And the one Ilike--the one I like best--is Jack Throckmorton. I can't talk to theothers."
Judith, who had got back a little of her composure, smiled at this.
"You talked away fast enough with Major Throckmorton."
"Oh, yes, but I didn't feel at home with him. Jack and I understand eachother. I know what he means when he talks to me. I don't alwaysunderstand Major Throckmorton. Judith, is my cousin Freke a very wickedman?"
"So people say," replied Judith in a subdued voice, which had notaltogether overcome its agitation.
"He isn't handsome enough to be very--very attractive," said Jacquelineafter a pause.
But the rule of contrary seemed to suddenly prevail at Barn Elms then.Within a week everybody in the house had succumbed more or less toFreke's charm. General Temple found him invaluable in the preparation ofthe History of Temple's Brigade; and Freke, who had a store of militaryknowledge among his great fund of general information, easily persuadedthe general that he was a military historian of the first order. Whenthe general began his evening harangues, Freke always had an example patof a certain occasion when Prince Eugene, or the Duke of Marlborough, orsome equally distinguished leader had successfully pursued GeneralTemple's tactics. All this General Temple laboriously transcribed in hismanuscript. Judith, who very much doubted whether Freke were not makingit up as he went along, had her suspicions confirmed when Freke wouldoccasionally turn his expressive face on her and actually wink withappreciation of the general's simplicity. Judith was indignant, but shecould not help laughing at Freke's genuine humor. Mrs. Temple showed herregard for the returned prodigal by taking him into the "charmber" oneday and reasoning in a motherly way upon Freke's duty to return to hiswife. Judith was astounded after a while to hear Mrs. Temple's gentlebut intense laughter making itself heard outside the room. Freke, withthe most good-natured manner in the world, sitting in the rush-bottomedchair, with one foot over his knee, began to tell Mrs. Temple some ofhis marital experiences with his Julia. Mrs. Temple at first put on herseverest frown and fairly groaned aloud at his declaration that hedidn't know whether he was married or not in Virginia, as his divorcewas got in one of the Northwestern States; but, divorce or no divorce,he wouldn't tempt Fate again in another matrimonial venture even with acreature as beautiful as Helen, as wise as Portia, and with a million inher own right. Then he began to tell of the adventures between Julia andhimself which had led to their separation, winding up with a descriptionof their final scene, when Juli
a threw a dish at him and he in turnthrew a bucket of ice-water over Julia. Before this, though, Mrs.Temple's laughter had been heard. Freke issued from the room the pictureof innocence, and at peace with himself and all the world. Mrs. Temple,on the contrary, was an image of guilt. Never had she before in her lifebeen beguiled from a moral lecture into unseemly laughter--and laughteron such a subject! Mrs. Temple's conscience rose up and fought her, andshe began to think that all her moral foundation was tottering.
Surprises were the order of the day. One night, just after familyprayers, when the gout, and the doubt whether anybody at all was to besaved, had caused General Temple to make a more pessimistic, vociferous,and grewsome prayer than usual, in which he called the Deity to accountfor so grievously afflicting the Temple family, Freke, whom Judith hadcaught smiling in the midst of General Temple's most telling periods,quietly announced that he had that day bought Wareham, a place withintwo miles of Barn Elms.
It was not much of a place, being at most about three hundred acres,with a small, untenanted house on it--and property went for a song,anyhow, in that part of the world--but, nevertheless, the news wasparalyzing to General and Mrs. Temple. Judith, who was developing acertain dislike and distrust of Freke that grew daily, could hardlyforbear laughing at the mute horror of General and Mrs. Temple over thisunlooked-for news. Freke went on to say that a very little would makethe place habitable for him, and he liked the fishing and shooting to behad--especially the shooting, as the birds had had four years' restduring the war. Then he said good-night pleasantly, and went off to bed.
"This is the dev--I mean this is most unfortunate, my love," remarkedGeneral Temple, dismally, to Mrs. Temple, at two o'clock in the morningfollowing this, as he paraded up and down the "charmber," declaimingagainst Freke's iniquities.
Next day, Mrs. Sherrard came over, and the direful news was communicatedto her by Mrs. Temple, with a very long face. Mrs. Sherrard's eyesdanced.
"Now you'll know what it is to have a nephew that one would like to beentirely unlike what he is. That's my trouble with Edmund Morford. Youknow, I hate a humbug--and Edmund is a good soul, but a dreadfulhumbug."
"Katharine!" exclaimed Mrs. Temple. "A minister of the gospel--"
"Go along, Jane Temple! You have no eyes in your head where ministers ofthe gospel are concerned. Edmund is perfectly harmless--that's onecomfort."
"I wish I could say the same of Temple Freke," Mrs. Temple rejoined,dolefully.
It would be a week or two yet before Freke could take possession ofWareham. Some beds and tables and sheets and towels had to be procured,and meanwhile he stayed on at Barn Elms. It would not have taken a veryastute person to see what the charm was. It was Judith.
When the knowledge first came to these two people--to Judith, thatFreke's eyes followed her continually; that, as if by some power beyondhis will, his chair was always next hers, his ear always alert to catchher lightest word--to Freke, that this young country-woman, with herspirited, expressive face, her untutored singing--for music was one ofhis weak points, or strong ones, as the case might be--her gentlesarcasm when he essayed a little sentiment, pretty and tender enough toplease a woman who knew twice as much as she; that at first sight,without an effort, she had conquered his bold spirit--it is hard to saywhich was the most vexed and disgusted. Judith found it easy enough toplay the inconsolable widow where a man who aroused a positiveantagonism like Freke was concerned, and denounced him in her own mindas a wretch for daring to fall in love with her. And Freke--after NewYork women and Creole women, French, Spanish, Russian, English, andItalian women--to have been loved and petted, and virtually made free ofwomen's hearts; that this unsophisticated Virginia girl, who had neverseen six men in her life, should simply take him off his feet, and that,without knowing it--was simply infuriating. In the privacy of hisbedroom, as he smoked his last cigar before turning in, he swore athimself with a self-deprecation that was thoroughly genuine. What did hewant to marry again for, anyway? Hadn't he had all he wanted of thatpastime? And, of course, being a divorced man, Judith would see himchopped into little pieces before she would marry him--and then thestaggering thought that, even if he were not divorced, the odds wereagainst her marrying him at all--it was altogether maddening. But he didnot lose his head completely. Judith's indifference--nay, dislike--savedto him his discretion. But had she warmed to him for one littlemoment--Freke, in thinking over this sweet impossibility, lay back inhis chair and watched the smoke curling upward, and was lost in adelicious reverie--when suddenly, the utter preposterousness of it cameto him, and he threw the cigar into the fire with a savage energy thatnearly wrenched his arm off. No, the little devil--for he was not choiceof epithets in regard to this woman--would throw him away with aslittle conscience and remorse as he threw that cigar away! Like all menof many love-affairs, he regarded love-making as an aesthetic amusement;and while it was absolutely necessary for its perfection that the womanshould be desperately in earnest--for Freke did not mind a tragic tingebeing given to the matter--it was nonsense for a man to permit himselfto be drawn into heroics--and yet--but for the indifference of thisgirl, who was always half laughing at him--he would not answer for anyfolly he might commit.
Then there was Jacqueline. She exactly suited him as a victim to hischarms, sardonically expressing it to himself. She, too, was notparticularly impressed with him as yet, but that was due to herignorance. He could easily enlighten her, and she would be led like aslave by him; he could make her believe anything. So, in default ofJudith, he might as well amuse himself with Jacqueline; and, byresolutely concealing his gigantic folly, he would in the end overcomeit. But he felt like a man who, having a head to stand champagne andbrandy and absinthe and every other intoxication, comes across somethingthat looks as harmless as water, but which sets his brain on fire andmakes him a madman.
The general and Mrs. Temple saw nothing; a man might have made love toJudith and have run away with her under their very noses before theywould have realized that it was possible for any man to dare falling inlove with Beverley's widow; and if Jacqueline's eyes saw anything, shekept it wisely to herself.
Freke certainly added a new and picturesque element to their lives; evenJudith could not deny that, although she habitually denied Freke thepossession of any of the graces as well as the virtues. But that Frekewas a wonderful, a gifted, a fascinating talker, she was forced toadmit. His conversation was quite different from Throckmorton's manlyplainness of speech, who, with more brains than Freke, had not them asreadily soluble in talk. Judith was acute enough to see the differencebetween the two men--one the man of conversation, and the other the manof action. Throckmorton knew many things, and one thing surpassinglywell--his profession. Freke excelled in conversation; what he knew wasimposing, but what he could do was not. However, he had not onlytraveled, but he had observed as well as read. He never made himself thehero of his own stories; and there was a sparkle in his eyes, ananimation that gave a deeper tone to his voice, and Judith, in her dulland colorless life, could not but feel the charm of it. Nevertheless, itwas not all charm. Judith felt as strongly as ever the incongruity ofFreke with his surroundings.
So, some days more passed. Judith found that in finesse she was nomatch for Freke. Indifferent to him as she might be, he could alwaysplace himself where he wanted--he managed to have a great deal more ofher society than she would willingly have given him; but she reasonedshrewdly with herself--women being naturally clever in these things: "Hewill soon give it up. The game is not worth the candle." And so itproved; for in a little while he began to shadow Jacqueline, andJacqueline succumbed like a bird to the charmer. If Freke was present,Jacqueline, who was wont to be impatient when not noticed, would sitquite quietly by her sister-in-law's side, sewing demurely, or walkbeside her gravely, not opening her mouth but listening intently, as herchanging color showed. One day, when Jacqueline went into the gloomy,darkened drawing-room to play, Freke followed her. Jacqueline sat down,and began some short familiar piece, but she could not re
nder it. Shemissed notes, became confused, and finally gave up and left the piano inmortification.
"It is because you are here," she said to Freke, with a child'sresentment.
"Is it, little girl?" he asked.
He was sitting quite at the other end of the room and did not come nearher, but something in his tone made Jacqueline halt, and brought theever-ready blood into her cheeks. Freke, after a moment, rose andsauntered toward her. As he came up to her he took a stray lock of hairthat had escaped, in curly perversity, from the comb; and, just as hestood with it in his fingers, the door opened and Simon Peter announced:
"Walk right in, Marse George. Mistis, she countin' de tuckeys in decoop, but Miss Judy, she be 'long pres'n'y. Hi! Here Miss Jacky!"
Throckmorton walked in. His eye, which was as quick as a hawk's, caughtthe whole thing in an instant, and a sort of jealousy sprang into life.Of course, he did not display the smallest symptom of it. He shook handspleasantly with Jacqueline, and also with Freke, whom he had met severaltimes. With his easy, worldly judgment, he by no means ranked Freke asthe chief of sinners, but, without regarding him as a model citizen,found him extremely good company, which Freke certainly was. Jacquelinelooked painfully embarrassed, but Freke's coolness was simplyindomitable. The two men made conversation naturally enough, whileJacqueline, awkwardly silent, sat and twisted the unlucky lock of hairin her fingers until a diversion was created by Judith's entrance, withlittle Beverley clinging to her skirts. A faint, girlish blush came intoJudith's face when she met Throckmorton; and for his part he felt alwaysthe charm, the refinement, the sprightliness, more piquant becausesubdued, that exhaled like a perfume wherever Judith was. Beverley madefor Throckmorton, and, before his mother could interpose a warninghand, was perched on the arm of Throckmorton's chair, whence both ofthem defied her. Jacqueline made but one remark. She asked Throckmorton,timidly:
"How is young Mr. Throckmorton?"
At which the major scowled, but responded carelessly that Jack was allright, as far as he knew.
_Young_ Mr. Throckmorton! and from those lovely lips!
Presently there was a grinding of wheels, and a commotion at the frontdoor.
"Mrs. Sherrard, I know!" said Judith. "She always begins her salutationsat the gate."
Sounds were distinguishable.
"Mistis be mighty glad ter see you an' Marse Edmun'. She down at defattenin'-coop countin' de tuckeys, kase we didn't have no luck wid detuckey-aigs lars' season, an' de wuffless hen-tuckeys--"
So much for Simon Peter, when Delilah's voice broke in:
"Miss Kitty, 'twan' de hen-tuckeys 'tall. Ef de gobblers wuz ter taketurns, like de pigeons, a-settin' on de aigs--"
"I allus did think dem he-pigeons look like de foolishest critters _I_ever see a-settin' on de nes' while de she-pigeons hoppin' roun' degroun' 'stid o' mindin' dey business--"
"You are right, Simon Peter," answered Mrs. Sherrard, still invisible."I wonder that Delilah hasn't profited by Mrs. Temple's example. You'vegot visitors. Whose hat is this?"
"Marse George Throckmorton's an' Marse Temple Freke's. I gwi' tellmistis you here. Marse c'yarn leave de charmber yet, he gout so bad."
Mrs. Sherrard marched in, followed by Edmund Morford. She wore her mostcommanding and hostile air. She had pooh-poohed Mrs. Temple's dread ofFreke, but she meant to give him to understand that his goings on, andparticularly his matrimonial difficulties, were perfectly well known inthe Severn neighborhood, and properly reprobated. So she shook hands allaround, followed by the Rev. Edmund, who never trusted himself at BarnElms, with those two pretty young women, alone and unprotected.
"I understand you have bought Wareham," remarked Mrs. Sherrard, tartly,to Freke.
"I have," answered Freke, very mildly.
"You'll repent it."
"Not if you make yourself as agreeable as you ought," answered Freke.
The impudence of this tickled Mrs. Sherrard.
"I hear you are an entertaining fellow," she said. "Come and talk tome."
Just then Mrs. Temple entered, but Mrs. Sherrard kept fast hold ofFreke. In half an hour he had won her over. Judith, responding with anintelligent glance to a rather cynical smile on Throckmorton's part, sawit. Not satisfied with winning Mrs. Sherrard over, Freke applied himselfto Morford, and that excellent but guileless person fell an instantvictim to Freke's tact and power. Mrs. Sherrard was so pleased with hermorning's visit, that she invited them all over to Turkey Thicket tospend the following Thursday evening.
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