The cigar Fred had been smoking when Herbert came up had gone out, and, brushing the ashes from it, he stood up and said:
“It would be absurd to be in love with a girl to whom I never spoke until yesterday. I think her the prettiest girl I have ever seen, and the pluckiest; and congratulate you upon having won her. But don’t keep it a secret. It is unjust to her and a harm to yourself. Better stand the storm at once, if there is to be one. Good-night, or rather morning—for see, the sky is brightening in the east.”
He walked away, while Herbert looked after him and said, “I am glad I got ahead of him, for if he isn’t in love with her now, he soon would be,” and that thought went a long way toward reconciling the young man to White’s Row and the plain sewing done for his mother.
Breakfast was very late at the White house that morning, and partly for this reason, and partly because he was still smarting under the indignity put upon him the day before, the judge was not in the best of humor, and did not try to conceal it. He had not slept, and he was cross. The coffee tasted as if it were warmed over from the night previous, and he had no doubt it was; one of his eggs was too hard, the other too soft; his toast was cold, and his napkin— “Well, this is a nice thing for a gentleman’s table,” he said, and he held up a small, thin bit of linen, which had evidently seen much service.
“Can’t you do better than this?” and he turned to his wife, who replied:
“Not this morning. Every large napkin was used last night, as the caterer did not bring enough, and I have only this half-dozen that are fresh. I don’t know how long I have had them. Mrs. Grey hemmed them for me, when they first came to town, or rather her daughter did. She was a little girl then, and I remember her bringing them home and looking so pleased as she told me she hemmed them, because her mother was ill. I thought her very pretty in her white sun-bonnet and bib apron. She looked pretty last night. Yes, they are very thin, and I do believe there’s a hole in yours, Fred. Let me change with you.”
It was Mrs. White’s habit to stick to a subject when once she was upon it, and she rambled on about the napkins Louie Grey had hemmed years before, while Herbert’s face grew crimson, and his eyes sought those of Fred, who looked at him with no change of expression whatever until the judge, roused by the name of Grey, began:
“Strange how things work. The world is one big teeter; sometimes your end of the board is up plumb, sometimes down. That’s the way with Grey. End of the teeter was on the ground when he came here, and hadn’t anything that anybody knew of; and now, my land! he thinks himself at the top of the heap. Did me a good turn yesterday, to be sure; but, upon my soul, I mistrust the man just the same. Can’t help it. There was something behind. Girl is well enough, but is a chip of the old block, or I am mistaken. Looks like him; has his ways, purring and soft. By the way, Herbert, it took you a good while to walk home with her. I heard you when you come in, and the roosters were crowing, and I b’lieve the sun was rising. Where were you?”
Before Herbert could reply, Fred spoke for him and said:
“He sat with me on the piazza after he came back. It was late when we came in. I hope we did not greatly disturb you.”