“It is perfectly true of a large class of them,” said Margaret; “but I have seen too much of the degeneration of distinguished families in the South, to have much sympathy with that idea. In too many cases they have lacked the spirit to save them from such degeneration, and, that being the case, what does their blood go for? It ought to go for nothing, I think—worse than nothing, for if it has any virtue at all, it should make its possessors independent and manly.”
“You have sometimes sneered a little gentle sneer at the Gaston pride—have you not?” said Louis; “and I’ve sometimes thought it odd, because I had always been told that the pride of the Southern people is unprecedented.”
“It is of a different sort,” said Margaret; “for instance——”
But she checked herself, and colored.
“Oh, pray give me the example,” said Louis, earnestly. “Illustrations are such helps. I beg you will not let any over-sensibility prevent your speaking plainly. It may be that you’ve got the best of these social questions. I want to be able to judge.”
“How honest and fair you are!” said Margaret, “and how rare that spirit is! I really think I’ll tell you frankly what I was going to say. You know what an appreciation of your brother I have, and how entirely his fine qualities command my respect, but I will not deny that his bearing in the matter of this invitation has amazed me. I think I am safe in saying that no Southern man, in your brother’s sphere of society, could possibly be found—no matter how insulated or behind the times he might be—no matter how poor or incapable or ignorant, who could be agitated and flattered by an invitation from General Morton or General anybody else. The notion would never penetrate their brains. But I am very bold,” she said, checking herself suddenly. “I am afraid I have said too much.”
“It would be too much for any one else to say to me certainly,” said Louis, looking steadily at her, “and I cannot say the idea you suggest is exactly palatable; but I think I could hardly take offence at words of yours.”
At that moment the door-bell rang, and presently Thomas announced General Reardon.
“Generals seem to be the order of the day,” said Margaret, with a smile, as the visitor was crossing the hall. “I might be back in Bassett for the prevalence of titles.”
Miss Trevennon greeted General Reardon with great cordiality, and set herself at once to the task of entertaining him. He called only occasionally at the Gastons’ house, as he did not enjoy their society any more than they did his. He had been in the United States Army before the war, and had been extremely popular among the officers, being possessed of a fund of anecdote and humor, which congealed instantly in the atmosphere of the Gastons’ drawing-room, but flowed freely enough in camps and barracks. He was of a good Southern family, and essentially a gentleman. His visits, as has been indicated, were not especially inspiring to the Gastons, but Cousin Eugenia had detected in her husband a faint tendency to slight this distant cousin of hers, and it was just like her, after that, to treat him with greater distinction. General Gaston, in truth, found it a little difficult to ignore the fact that he was an officer in the Federal army who had gone with the South, and certainly did not enjoy his visits; but he stood in some awe of his wife, which enabled him partially to conceal the fact that he chafed under her cousin’s companionship.