“Miss Georgia Conway, a daughter of Judge William Conway.”
“Ah,” I said, “the statesman?—the successor of Randolph in bitter oratory?”
“Yes, and yonder he is.”
I looked in the direction indicated, and saw an elderly gentleman of small stature, with long gray hair, and lips full of benignant smiles. He wore a suit of black, and there was something courtly and attractive in every movement of the slender figure. His low bow and sweet smile were the perfection of old-time courtesy.
I was still looking at this gentleman, whose fame had extended throughout Virginia and the whole South, when a familiar voice near me, attracted my attention. It was that of Captain Davenant, the young officer of the horse artillery, and glancing in the direction of the voice I saw him bending over a young lady who was seated and conversing with him. She was a girl of seventeen, with blue eyes, auburn hair, and a complexion as fair as a lily. As Davenant addressed her in low tones, she gazed up into his face with an expression of confiding affection. In the eyes of the young officer I could read a profound and ardent love.
Turning to my friend I inquired the name of the young lady, in turn.
“Miss Virginia Conway,” he replied, “the only sister of Miss Georgia.”
He had scarcely uttered the words, when Davenant’s interview with the young lady terminated in a very singular manner. Suddenly Judge Conway passed through the crowd, reached the spot where the young people were conversing, and darting a glance of positive fury at the youth—a glance which made his eyes resemble coals of fire—offered his arm to his daughter, and abruptly bore her away.
Davenant’s face flushed crimson, and his eyes darted flame. He took a step as though about to follow—but all at once he stopped.
Then from red his face became pale. The old expression of sadness returned to his lips. With head bent down, and a faint color stealing over his cheeks, he went toward the door, and passed though it, and disappeared.