One tiny fist this time! Ardmore was sure of it. Her indignation against the Osbornes was so sincere, the pouting petulance to which it diminished so like a child’s, and the gravity of the offence so novel in his simple experiences, that Ardmore was bound in chains before her speech was finished. The little drawl with which she concluded gave heightened significance to her last three words, so that it seemed that all the veterans of the war with Mexico trudged by, bearing the flag of North Carolina and no other banner.
“Governor Osborne is a contemptible ruffian,” declared Ardmore, with deep feeling.
Miss Dangerfield nodded judicial approval, and settled back in her chair the better to contemplate her new secretary, and said,—
“I’m a Daughter of the Confederacy and a Colonial Dame. What are you?”
“I suppose you’ll never speak to me again; papa sent three expensive substitutes to the Civil War.”
“Three! Horrible!”
“Two of them deserted, and one fell into the Potomac on his way south and was drowned. I guess they didn’t do you folks much harm.”
“We’ll forgive you that; but what did your ancestors do in the Revolution?”
“I’m ashamed to say that my great-grandfather was a poor guesser. He died during Washington’s second administration still believing the Revolution a failure.”
“Do you speak of the war of 1861 as the Rebellion or as the war between the states? I advise you to be careful what you say,” and Miss Jerry Dangerfield was severe.