“Provided you do us no wrong, provided you do nothing to bring trouble upon us, after the war—I will—consider it.”
“Even that ray of hope is much. I make this concession, and you, dearest, can never know what it costs: I promise to take no active part in the measures against the carrying on of the war. I have been an earnest partisan, I acknowledge; yet I will henceforth be a neutral. God forgive me, if I am wrong; if to win your favor is more to me than the approval of my countrymen. Can you not give me a proof of a like measure of love?”
“If when the war is over, you come to me with hands unstained, and with a conscience clean of having done no injury to our side, I think I may, perhaps, be ready to promise you—what you ask.” She hung her head, and the last words were in a whisper.
“And you will seal the bond, beloved, you will?” He advanced and would have kissed her, but she retreated, crying:—
“No, no, the war is not over yet.” She spoke gayly, however, and held out her hand, which he pressed to his lips. But just then Lutie’s voice broke in upon them.
“Miss Letty, Miss Betty say huccome yuh fo’git yuh-alls is gwine to yo Aunt Marthy’s to dinner? She say yuh bleedged ter come an’ git dressed e’ssen dey leave yuh ’thout nothin’ but cold pone.” Lutie’s giggle followed the message, and Lettice, with Robert at her side, took her way to the house.
“Law, Letty,” cried Betty, meeting her in the hall, “you certainly are feather-brained these days. Here I am all ready, and you are mooning about, nobody knows where. It is high time we were off. This is to be a state dinner, remember, and Aunt Martha will never forgive us if we are late.”
“I didn’t know what time it was,” said Lettice, as she ran upstairs.
Aunt Martha’s state dinners were rather dreary affairs. Solemn dinings to which dignified heads of families were invited. In this instance it was in honor of an elderly bride that the invitations were sent out. One of Mr. Hopkins’s cousins had taken to himself a second wife, and Lettice did not anticipate any great joviality; yet her hopes were high, for she had gained a great point, she considered. Robert would be true to his promise, she knew he would; and if the war would but end, then he would make his request of her father in proper form, and her father would not refuse. She was entirely unworldly in her thought of it all, and hardly gave a passing consideration to the fact that her lover was a wealthy man, and considered an excellent match; all that troubled her was his politics. She stopped so often, and was so preoccupied in the making of her toilet, that Lutie finally exclaimed:—
“Yuh sholy mus’ be in lub, Miss Letty. Yuh ain’t gwine put on bofe dem scarfs, is yuh?”