"The notion," said Mr. Curtis, folding his arms and surveying his three companions in haughty disgust, "that they can raise as good-looking people in any other quarter of the world as they can in these here blessed United States. Look at me now," said Mr. Curtis, drawing himself up till his suspenders snapped, "I'm a specimen! Mr. Randall, my young friend, you have traveled, you have crossed that small pond, the Atlantic, and have become personally acquainted with all the great guns of Europe, from the Hottentots of Portugal to the people of 'that beautiful city called Cork,' and now I ask you as an enlightened citizen and fellow sinner, did you ever, in all your wanderings, clap your two eyes on a better-looking young man than the individual now addressing you? Don't answer hastily—take time for reflection. You know you didn't—you know you didn't; the thing's impossible."
"Mr. Curtis must be the best judge of his own surpassing beauty," said Mr. Randall, politely; "if he will hold me excused, I would rather not give an opinion on the subject."
"Welcome to Richmond House," said Mr. Wildair, as the carriage rolled up the avenue. "And now, gentlemen, I will leave you here for the present, while Mrs. Wildair goes to see her former guardian, Miss Jerusha Skamp."
"Perhaps I had better go alone, Richmond," said Georgia, hesitatingly. "Our first meeting——"
"Had better be unwitnessed; that is true enough," said Richmond. "Well, John will drive you down. Shall I call for you in person?"
"If Miss Jerusha consents to forgive you, I shall send for you, if Fly is still in the land of the living," said Georgia, smiling. "Good-by, gentlemen;" and kissing her hand, and laughing at Mr. Curtis, who nearly turned a somerset in his profound genuflexion, she was whirled away toward the cottage.
Yes, there it stood still, the same old brown, low-roofed little homestead. How different was this visit to it to what had been her last. There was her own little room under the roof, and there, in the broad window-sill, basking in the broader sunshine, lay Betsey Periwinkle and one of her numerous family, lazily blinking their sleepy eyes.
Georgia's heart beat fast as she leaped out of the carriage and walked slowly toward the house. Gathering the sweeping folds of her purple satin dress in one hand, she rapped timidly, faltering at the door.
It was opened by Fly—yes, it was Fly, no doubt about it—who opened her eyes and jumped back with a screech when she saw who it was.
"Hush, Fly! How do you do?" said Georgia, tapping her black cheek. "Is Miss Jerusha in?"