“Why do you stare thus, Lieutenant Mason?” cried Captain Dunwoodie, laughing a little; “you show more astonishment than when you saw the falls.”
“Oh, the falls! they are a thing to be looked at on a moon-shiny night, by your aunt Sarah and that gay old bachelor, Colonel Singleton.”
“Come, come, Tom, no jokes about my good aunt, I beg; she is kindness itself; and I have heard it whispered that her youth was not altogether happy.”
“Why, as to rumor,” said Mason, “there goes one in Accomac, that Colonel Singleton offers himself to her regularly every Valentine’s Day; and there are some who add that your old great-aunt helps his suit.”
“Aunt Jeanette!” said Dunwoodie, laughing; “dear, good soul, she thinks but little of marriage in any shape, I believe, since the death of Dr. Sitgreaves.”
“The last time I was at General Dunwoodie’s plantation, that yellow, sharp-nosed housekeeper of your mother’s took me into the pantry, and said that the colonel was no despicable match, as she called it.”
“Quite likely,” returned the captain; “Katy Haynes is no bad calculator.”
The old man listened to each word as it was uttered, with the most intense interest; but, toward the conclusion of the dialogue, the earnest attention of his countenance changed to a kind of inward smile. Mason paid but little attention to the expression of his features, and continued:
“To me she is selfishness embodied.”