“Yes,� replied Diana, scarlet now.
Her elderly cousin dropped her hands helplessly in her lap. “Diana Royall, I’m ashamed of you!�
“I was ashamed of myself,� said Diana.
The colonel rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “I reckon he had a reason, Di,� he said at last.
“I have a reason for not asking him again,� replied his daughter.
“Thank heaven!� ejaculated Mrs. Eaton devoutly.
The girl turned away and walked slowly across the lawn. Two of the setters followed her half-way, but, unencouraged, fell back lazily to lie in the cool grass. As she went the murmur of indignant voices died away, and she passed into the cool shadow of the horse-chestnuts. Her face still burned with the blush of vexation that Mrs. Eaton had summoned, and her heart beat a little faster at the thought that she had never asked any man to accept their hospitality before in vain. It was preposterous and rude, yet, in her heart, she respected Caleb Trench for refusing it. Even at Kitty Broughton’s ball he had been accepted only on tolerance and because of Judge Hollis. She had seen him slighted, and then the prejudice had been against his poor little shop at the village Cross-Roads and his black Republicanism, in a section that was rankly Democratic. Now they had a greater cause, the Cresset speech, the attacks upon Eaton, the duel at Little Neck Meadow—of which no one could get the truth, for no one knew socially Peter Mahan or Aaron Todd—and last of all the scandal of the child. The story of poor Jean Bartlett had passed from lip to lip now that Sammy played on the door-step of the most unique figure in local politics.
Gossips had promptly decided that Sammy was Caleb’s child, and Jean’s had been a peculiarly sad case. The story lost nothing in transmission, and Diana tried not to recall details as she walked. Why should she? The man was nothing to her! Her father did not believe all he heard, and neither did she, but she was more tormented than if she had believed the worst. Certainty carries healing in its wings; doubt is more cruel than a whip of scorpions. She had tried to understand the man and she could not; one thing contradicted another, but he was strong, his figure loomed above the others, and the storm was gathering about it, as the clouds sweep around the loftiest peak.
The hottest contest for years was brewing in the conventions, and it was known—and well-known—that Caleb Trench had an immense influence with the largest element of the party. He was convinced that Aylett’s government was weak and permeated with corruption, and he was making his conviction public, with a force and certainty that were bewildering far older politicians. In fact, the man was no politician at all; he was a born reformer, and he was making himself felt.
Diana, too, had felt his force and resented it. She resented also his duel with her cousin. The cheap sensationalism of a duel irritated her, and she did not place the whole blame upon Jacob, for she knew—Aunt Charity had spread it—that Caleb had knocked Jacob down. She was ashamed that she almost tingled with joy at the thought of him towering in wrath over Jacob, for she could divine the insulting tone that must have provoked him beyond endurance. She could divine it, but she would not accept it. Jacob was her own relation, and Jacob had been knocked down. It was maddening from that point of view, and Diana felt that nothing but blood could have atoned to her for being laid in the dust. Yet she thrilled at the thought that Caleb Trench had dealt the blow, that the son of the Philadelphia Quaker was a man. Thus contradictory is the heart of woman!