“Mr. Lyddon is making fun of me,” Angela explained. “But he doesn’t know how often I hoaxed him when I was a child. I would make him read Latin to me just because he reads it so beautifully and would pretend I understood a great deal more than I really did, and often when he would give me what he calls solid books to read, I would read them just to make Mr. Lyddon think how clever I was.”
“I never taught but one girl in my life,” murmured Lyddon. “And if God will forgive me——”
“I think I must have a very mean disposition,” continued Angela. “I remember how safe and triumphant I used to feel when, if Archie missed his Latin grammar, Mr. Lyddon would give him a clip over the head with the book, but when I couldn’t do arithmetic, Mr. Lyddon could only ran his hands through his beard and growl: ‘She must have a governess. I shall tell Mrs. Tremaine this day.’”
Adrienne sat silent. Her childhood and girlhood had none of these recollections. She had practically never seen a man until she was married.
In the dusk of the evening Richard arrived. He was full of news from camp, and brought word that the Federals were establishing a camp of instruction, larger and more complete in every way than the Confederate, about fifteen miles on the other side of Harrowby. It was not likely, however, that any actual fighting would take place, both armies reserving their forces for the Titanic struggle around Richmond. And as the case had been for months past, while the war was discussed, and it was always being discussed, the negroes were seen furtively listening to all that went on.
Isabey remained a week as he had expected. Most of his days were spent in camp, but every evening he rode the ten miles back to Harrowby.
Mrs. Tremaine and Colonel Tremaine remarked to each other upon Captain Isabey’s filial attention to his stepmother. Madame Isabey was quite willing outwardly to take Isabey’s attentions, but inwardly she hoped that it was Adrienne’s presence which drew him to Harrowby.
Not so Adrienne. Perfect man of the world as Isabey was, and careful as he might be that he should not betray the compelling interest which Angela possessed for him, he could not disguise it from the other woman. Adrienne was reminded of a Spanish saying she had heard long ago: “I am dying for thee and thou art dying for some one who is dying for another.”
Nor did Lyddon suppose for one moment that Adrienne was the magnet which drew Isabey. Nevertheless, with a perfectly clear conscience, he reiterated to Angela that he supposed a marriage would shortly take place between Captain Isabey and Madame Le Noir. And to Lyddon’s discomfiture, he saw a look of incredulity come into Angela’s expressive face. It would have been better if she had shown anger or distress, but she did not. Without speaking, she conveyed to Lyddon her inward conviction that Adrienne was nothing and never could be anything to Isabey.
Lyddon thought that the best thing possible was for Angela to join Neville at the very earliest opportunity.