The impudence of this annoyed Mr. Brand excessively, particularly in the presence of Mrs. Charteris, who never ceased badgering him openly and secretly for not joining the army. Mrs. Charteris, who was known to have more spirit than any ten men in the county, now turned her attention to Didlake.
“Mr. Didlake,” she cried, “I want to buy some things here, but I understand you and Captain Ross won’t take Confederate money, the money of your country.”
“Well, marm,” Didlake began, and halted. He was a little afraid of Mrs. Charteris, who was reckoned the best business woman in five counties.
“Don’t ‘Well, marm’ me, Mr. Didlake. May I ask in what kind of currency do you expect to pay the interest on your mortgage which I hold?”
Didlake remained silent, seeing the pitfall before him, and Mrs. Charteris continued vigorously, but laughing meanwhile at Didlake’s plight:
“Very well, then, you’ll pay that interest in gold. It has been due some little time and I shall have pleasure in spending it on the spot.” And with this, she figuratively collared Didlake, drove him into the house before her, made him produce the amount of his debt in gold, and proceeded to lay it out on the spot in purchases.
Madame Isabey, who had heard something of Mr. Brand’s devotion to Mrs. Charteris and the Charteris acres, was deeply interested in this duello and could scarcely be torn from the scene, but Mrs. Tremaine gently reminding her that it was now high noon, they drove away.
Meanwhile, an unexpected visitor had reached Harrowby. As Angela sat reading alone in the cool green light of the darkened drawing-room, she heard the clatter of hoofs upon the gravel outside and the next moment, glancing through the jalousies, she saw Philip Isabey dismount from his horse and walk up the steps. Her heart gave a great leap, and she involuntarily put her hand to her breast. Perhaps it was because so much had happened, so much was happening, that even her strong young nerves were a little tense.
The next moment Isabey was being ushered in by Hector. Isabey thought he had never seen more witchery in a woman than in Angela at that moment. She was palpitating and flushing beautifully, and the unconscious coquetry of her sidelong glances was charming. Through her thin white bodice and sleeves could be seen her delicate neck and slender arms, and she seemed to embody all freshness, coolness, and purity. Her glances, however, took note of Isabey’s slight but well-made figure, his perfectly fitting uniform, the masculine charm, if not beauty, which was his.
“I’m so sorry Madame Isabey is not here,” said Angela, after the first greetings were exchanged. “She has gone with Aunt Sophia to Captain Ross’s, the blockade-runner, this morning, and Uncle Tremaine is out riding. Madame Le Noir, however, is at home, and I will send for her at once,” and she touched the drawing-room bell.