The answer of the overnight revellers would doubtless depend chiefly on age and temperament. Young men and maidens would reply that it was none of the sun's business; that he had never been at a ball, and did not know what he was talking about, and for themselves they preferred to reserve their confidences for the sympathetic moon, who, being so much younger than the sun, could better understand youthful experiences and emotions.
Certainly that is what Romney Huntoon would have said. The commonplace day annoyed him. His mood was too sentimental for its searching light. He had slept little, and now at near noon hung about the foot of the stairway wondering at what time it would occur to Mistress Margaret Neville to come down.
When she did appear disappointment was in store for him. She seemed to have forgotten wholly that little scene on the terrace, and when he held out his hand with her ring, that blessed little ring upon it, she only courtesied and asked if his mother were yet down stairs.
At breakfast it was little better: she raved over Colonel Theophilus Payne, praised the bearing of Councillor Claiborne, said how she doted upon army men, commended the curls of one cavalier and the bearing of another,—all as if no such youth as Romney Huntoon had ever crossed her path.
Romney avowed his intention of spending the afternoon in his boat on the river. Peggy thought it an excellent plan, and purposed retiring to her room unless Mistress Huntoon had need of her.
Mistress Huntoon had no need of her. In fact, in reviewing last night's events she felt that Peggy had treated her son rather badly, and she was inclined to make the culprit feel it, too. It must be admitted that justice is never so unrelenting as when Rhadamanthus has been up overnight. On another occasion excuses might have been found for the girl, but this morning she was pronounced unquestionably vain and presumably heartless,—in short, Elizabeth Huntoon was out of temper.
It was not much better with her husband. He was uneasy over the approaching visit of William Claiborne, and annoyed with himself that he had not had the wit to devise an excuse. He knew well Claiborne's insubordinate temper, and had no mind to be drawn into any of his schemes.
Peggy alone worked away at her stitching in exasperating content. At length Romney could bear it no longer. He rose, thrust his hands into his pockets and rushed out, opening the door with his head as he went, like a goat butting a wall.
Peggy smiled, and the smile brought a frown to the face of her hostess.
"Romney is not over well this morning, I fear," said his mother.