Though above such pastime as flirtation, America had more offers than any other girl in her set. Her low, slow voice never recounted these conquests, but the victims published themselves, wondering whom America Poynton would marry, since she was so hard to suit. When she accepted Ross Carr, therefore, the astonishment was general. He was good enough for some girls, but hardly good enough for America Poynton. He had also been a wild youth, but people said he was settling down. The Carrs ranked somewhat below the Poyntons, and Ross had no plantation of his own. Yet when the community thought it over, they were willing to accept him as America’s husband if he proved a credit to her.
“Miss Maria,” said Nancy, coming to the door with a face full of meaning, “Miss Becky Inchbald’s done lighted down by the quarters, and tied her horse.”
“What does she want?” inquired Mrs. Poynton, disturbed.
“Dunno, Miss Maria.”
“Why doesn’t she come to the house?”
“She hardly ever came to the house in her best days,” murmured the judge’s wife.
“Perhaps she’s sick,” continued Mrs. Poynton. “Some of you run and see.”
“Peachy done been down to her, and she say she just waitin’ there in the shade. Miss Becky got her baby ’long with her.”
The general’s wife heard this with rising dignity.
“Don’t annoy her,” she commanded. “Let the poor girl alone.”