Lord William had breakfasted; but would do so again. So he sat down at the table and spoiled a cup of coffee and a couple of buckwheat cakes without deriving much benefit from either. A lively conversation ensued.
“The history and antiquities of Winchester, sir,” said Colonel Compton, with a half-suppressed smile, in reply to a question of the young tourist. “The history is scarcely a hundred years old, and the antiquities consist mainly of some vestiges of the Shawanee’s occupancy, and of Washington’s march in the old French and Indian War; but the society, sir—the society representing the old respectability of the State may not be unworthy of your attention.”
Lord William was sure that the society was most worthy of cultivation, nevertheless, he would like to see those “vestiges” of which his host spoke.
“The ladies will take their usual morning ride within an hour or two, sir, and if you would like to attend them, they will take pleasure in showing you these monuments.”
Lord William was again “most happy.” And Colonel Compton rang and ordered “Ali,” to be brought out saddled for his lordship’s use.
Within an hour after rising from the table, the riding party, consisting of Miss Compton, Miss De Lancie, Lord William Daw, and a groom in attendance, set forth. The lions of Winchester and its environs were soon exhausted, and the party returned to Compton Lodge in time for an early dinner.
Lord William Daw sojourned at Winchester, and became a daily visitor at Compton Lodge. Colonel Compton, to break the exclusiveness of his visits to one house, introduced him at large among the gentry of the neighborhood. And numerous were the tea, card, and cotillion parties got up for the sole purpose of entertaining the young scion of nobility, where it was only necessary to secure Miss De Lancie’s presence in order to ensure his lordship’s dutiful attendance. Mr. Murray chafed and fretted at what he called his pupil’s consummate infatuation, and talked of writing home to his father, “the marquis.” Marguerite scorned, or seemed to scorn, his lordship’s pretensions, until one morning at breakfast, Colonel Compton, half seriously, half jestingly, said:
“Sweetheart, you do not appear to join in the respect universally shown to this young stranger.”
“If,” said Marguerite, “the young man had any distinguished personal excellence, I should not be backward in recognizing it; but he is at best—Lord William Daw! Now who is Lord William Daw that I should bow down and worship him?”
“Lord William Daw, my dear, is the second son of the most noble, the Marquis of Eaglecliff, as you have already seen announced with a flourish of editorial trumpets, by our title-despising and very consistent democratic newspapers! He is heir presumptive, and as I learn from Mr. Murray, rather more than heir presumptive to his father’s titles and estates; for it appears that the marquis has been twice married, and that his eldest son, by his first marchioness, derives a very feeble constitution from his mother; and it is not supposed that he will ever marry, or that he will survive his father; ergo, the hopes of the marquis for re-union rest with his second son, Lord William Daw; finis, that young nobleman’s devoirs are not quite beneath the consideration even of a young lady of ‘one of the first families of Virginia,’ who is besides a belle, a blue, and a freeholder.”