“Oh, good God, don’t talk to me about Beverley Temple! He was the most wooden-headed Temple I ever knew, and that’s saying a good deal, ma’am!” responded Freke, with energy.
“You are no fool,” said Mrs. Sherrard, as if willing to argue the point.
“Yes, but you couldn’t any more take me as a type of the Temples than you could take Edmund Morford as a type of the Sherrards. Lord, Mrs. Sherrard, what an ass your nephew is!”
“Isn’t he, though? But he is a good soul,” was Mrs. Sherrard’s answer.
Was it Judith or was it Jacqueline that Freke was trying his charms on, thought Mrs. Sherrard, taking her afternoon nap over the fire, after Freke left. Freke, however, really could not have enlightened her. For Judith his admiration increased every day—her very defiance of him was captivating to him. He well knew that she hated every bone in his body, and he had made up his mind, as a set-off to this, to get a description of a certain scene during the war out of Throckmorton some time in her presence. It was a species of vivisection, but she deserved it—deserved it richly—for had she not brought it on herself by the way she treated him, Temple Freke? And then Jacqueline—she was certainly a fascinating little object, though not half the woman that Judith was—this Freke magnanimously allowed, riding briskly along the country road in the wintry twilight.
The family at Barn Elms had never yet dined with Throckmorton, owing to General Temple’s continued wrestle with the gout, that had now made him a prisoner for four long weeks. Mrs. Temple, who every day got fonder of George, as she called Throckmorton, had promised to dine at Millenbeck when the general was able to go; but, as she invested all their intercourse with Millenbeck with the solemnity of a formal reconciliation, she delayed until the whole family could go in state and ceremony. At last Dr. Wortley, having gained a temporary advantage over Delilah, and brought General Temple to observe his (Dr. Wortley’s) regimen, instead of Delilah’s, a week or two marked a decided improvement. The general’s Calvinism abated, his profanity mended, and he became once more the amiable soldier and stanch churchman that he was by nature.
“Now, Mrs. Temple,” said Throckmorton one evening as he was going away, “if you will keep the general out of mischief for a day or two longer, you will be able to pay me that long-promised visit. Let me know, so I can get Mrs. Sherrard and Dr. Wortley—and Morford and Freke; but you, my dear friend, will be the guest of honor.”
Mrs. Temple blushed like a girl, with pleasure—Throckmorton’s way of saying this was so whole-souled and affectionate.
“You say right, my dear Throckmorton,” remarked General Temple, putting his arm around Mrs. Temple’s waist, “the tenderest, sweetest, most obedient wife”—at which Simon Peter, putting wood on the fire, snickered audibly, and Throckmorton would have laughed outright had he dared.
So it was fixed that on the following Friday evening they were all to dine at Millenbeck, Mrs. Temple promising to watch the general, lest he should relapse into gout and gloom—and a promise from Mrs. Temple was a promise. She went about, a little surprised at the complete way that Throckmorton had brought her round. Here was one Yankee whom she loved with a genuine motherly affection—and he was a Virginia Yankee, too—which she esteemed the very worst kind.