Olivia’s training had made her something of a stoic under Colonel Berkeley’s remarks, but at this a deep red dyed her clear pale face. She was the best of daughters, but she could at that moment have cheerfully inflicted condign punishment on her father. Pembroke saw it too, not without a little malicious satisfaction. She had quietly assumed in her tone and manner that he was in some way responsible for Madame Koller and her mother being at The Beeches—an incident fraught with much discomfort for him—none the less that there was nothing tragic about it, but rather ridiculous. All the same, he determined to set himself right on the spot.
“Of course, I saw them often. It would have been quite unpardonable if I had not, considering we were often in the same places—and our land joins. I can’t say that I recollect Madame Koller very much before she went away. I only remember her as rather an ugly little thing, always strumming on the piano. I took the liberty of telling both her and Madame Schmidt that I did not think they would find a winter at The Beeches very pleasant—but it seems she did not agree with me. Ahlberg is a cousin by marriage, and has been in the diplomatic corps—”
And at that very moment Petrarch threw open the drawing-room door and announced “Mrs. Koller and Mr. Ahlberg, sah.”
Madame Koller’s appearance was none the less striking in evening dress, with ropes of amber around her neck, and some very fine diamonds. Who says that women are indifferent to each other? The instant Olivia beheld Madame Koller in her gorgeous trailing gown of yellow silk, and her jewels, she felt plain, insignificant, and colorless both in features, dress and manner—while Madame Koller, albeit she knew both herself and other women singularly well, almost envied Olivia the girlish simplicity, the slightness and grace that made her a pretty picture in her white gown with the bunch of late autumn roses at her belt.
The clergyman came last. Then Petrarch opened the folding doors and announced dinner, and Colonel Berkeley gallantly offering his arm to Madame Koller, they all marched in.
Something like a sigh of satisfaction escaped Mr. Ahlberg. Once more he was to dine. Madame Koller sat on the Colonel’s right, and at her right was Mr. Cole. The clergyman’s innocent heart beat when he saw this arrangement. He still fancied that he strongly disapproved of Madame Koller, the more so when he saw the nonchalant way in which she took champagne and utterly ignored the carafe of water at her plate. Mr. Cole took only claret, and watered that liberally.
Madame Koller certainly had a very pretty manner—rather elaborate and altogether different from Olivia’s self-possessed simplicity. She spoke of her mother—“so happy once more to be back in Virginia.” Madame Schmidt, always wrapped up in shawls, and who never volunteered a remark to anybody in her life, scarcely seemed to outsiders to be quite capable of any enjoyment. And Aunt Peyton—dear Aunt Peyton—so kind, so handsome—so anxious that people shall please themselves—“Upon my soul, madam,” cried the Colonel, with much hearty good humor, “I am delighted to hear that last about my old friend Sally Peyton. I’ve known her well for fifty years—perhaps she wouldn’t acknowledge it—and a more headstrong, determined, self-willed woman I never saw. Sally is a good woman, and by heaven, she was a devilish pretty one when—when—you may have heard the story, ma’am—but she always wanted to please herself a d—n sight more than anybody else—including Ned Peyton.”
The Colonel said this quite pleasantly, and Madame Koller smiled at it—she seldom laughed. “Were you not some years in the army, Colonel Berkeley?” she asked presently. “It seems to me I have some recollection of having heard it.” Colonel Berkeley colored slightly. He valued his military title highly, but he didn’t know exactly how he came by it.
“The fact is madam,” he replied, clearing his throat, “in the old days we had a splendid militia. Don’t you remember the general musters, hay? Now I was the—the commanding officer of the Virginia Invincibles—a crack cavalry company, composed exclusively of the county gentlemen—and in some way, they called me colonel, and a colonel I remained.”
“The title seems quite natural,” said Madame Koller, with a sweet smile—“You have such a military carriage—that indescribable air—” at which the Colonel, who never tired of laughing at other people’s foibles, straightened up, assumed a martial pose, and showed vast elation and immense pleasure—which Madame Koller saw out of the corner of her eye.