"It must be with Miss Stanbury, then," said Mr. Bainrothe, evasively. "She is a very pretty girl, and I don't wonder at Claude's infatuation. The old man is rich, too; it will answer very well, I think. What do you say, Mr. Monfort."
"Well, really, I think Claude could scarcely do better," rejoined my ever literal father. "She is an admirable young person, pious, and discreetly brought up—and—yes, quite pretty, certainly. Let us drink to his success in that quarter.—Ladies!—Mr. Bainrothe!—fill your glasses.—Franklin, the sherry.—Morton, the port. Which will you have, Bainrothe? or do you prefer Rhine wines?"
"A glass of Hockheimer, if you have it convenient, Franklin. Those heavy wines are too heating for our summers, I think, Mr. Monfort. You yourself would do well to follow my example."
"Thank you," said my father, loftily. "When you feed lions on pound-cake you may expect to see Englishmen drink German acidulations instead of the generous juice of the grape—fostered on southern soil, above volcanoes even—to which they have been used since the time of the last Henrys. Beer were a better alternative. Give me claret or madeira."
Mr. Bainrothe had his limits, and usually took care not to exceed them. My father's easy good-nature was converted into frozen hauteur at any open effort to transcend the boundaries of his independence. He gloried in "Magna Charta," and never knowingly sacrificed his baronial privileges, yet he was wax in the hands of a skillful wheedler, and his "adamantine will" was readily fused in the fires of flattery.
We drank the proposed toast, much to Mr. Bainrothe's discomfiture. He had made the remark as a skillful feeler, and was mortified at my father's ready acquiescence in his plans. Of course, Evelyn and I both saw through the unskillful ruse, and pledged him with hearty malice; but he had yet another shot in reserve, which told with fatal effect.
"Mr. Biddle has offered me a cashiership for Claude," he remarked, carelessly, "in a thriving town in Georgia, and I shall accept for him forthwith. Then, if Miss Stanbury chooses to accompany him into exile, it will be all for the best; but, were he about to remain here, I would not suffer him to think of matrimony for years to come. 'A young man married is a young man marred,' as Shakespeare says somewhere, I believe; and I agree with him. A youth of twenty-one ought to be free for a season until he can shape his life."
I felt myself tremble from head to foot. I had never contemplated the possibility of his absence, and the conviction of my deep interest in him flashed across me for the first time with lightning force and vividness. Evelyn did not reproach me for blushing this time; I was pale enough to satisfy even her spleen. Indeed, some better feeling than she had before manifested seemed to inspire her now, for she filled another glass of wine and motioned me to drink it. I had merely sipped from mine when papa proposed his toast, and Franklin had borne it away with the others in making ready for the dessert.
"Don't let that man read you," she said, in a low, eager voice, not lost on me. I drank the wine, and met his glance steadily this time, and gave him look for look. My secret had nerved me well.
That evening Claude Bainrothe came.