"I am seeking Mr. Trevor—and—madame," said Claude, on the step of the portico.
"Yes, sah; ef you'll walk right in, sah—dey's right—"
"M. de Mailly! You honor us, sir!" Vincent, who had witnessed the arrival, appeared from the hall and came hastily out to meet his guest. His astonishment at such a costume as he had never before, even in England, beheld, was, perhaps, visible in his face; but if Claude perceived it he said nothing.
"Come inside, will you not? The heat is great to-day. We—Rockwell is here," explained the host, in a slightly disconcerted tone. He was expecting another visitor, and de Mailly's arrival was ill-timed.
"Thank you," responded Claude, still suavely oblivious, and flicking some dust from his sleeve with an enormous lace-bordered handkerchief.
Side by side they entered the hall, wherein, all very stiff as to appearance, and even more uncomfortable in expression, sat Madam Trevor, Lucy, Virginia, and George Rockwell. There was the usual series of salutations, followed by a pause so heavy, so unbreakable, that Claude flushed. He glanced at the rector, to find that gentleman glaring at him with a mixture of intense apprehension and extreme anger. Madam Trevor looked infinitely annoyed, and her lips were firmly set. Lucy, dull, mute, motionless, was pathetically hopeless. Finally, Virginia, with a kind of dry humor, set herself to save the situation.
"Perhaps, M. de Mailly," she said, "you come as suitor for my sister Lucy's hand?"
Claude turned to her quickly: "I have not that honor, Miss Trevor. I had, indeed, understood that your sister was already—um—bespoken. I came to ask of Mr. Trevor that I may pay my addresses to Miss Travis."
"Deborah!" cried both Lucy and her mother.
Rockwell breathed, a sweat broke gently upon his brow, and all danger of spontaneous combustion was happily at an end.