Captain Hosmer had sought opportunities for showing special courtesies to me, but I had rather repelled him. He was good enough, however, to ignore my bad manners and to persist in turning my music for me. We had dances very often in the evenings, I playing the same tunes for folks to dance by that I played for the Prussians and that I play for my children. One night, I had the audacity to rattle off the Virginia reel, and they danced it with spirit, every Yankee of them. My fingers were just itching to play Dixie, and I don’t know what foolhardiness I might have been guilty of if Captain Hosmer, who was turning my music, had not bent over me and said:
“I would like to have a little private talk with you, Miss Duncan. I know who you are. You are from the South and you have run the blockade. Your position is not free from danger. You are suspected. Pray be careful. When you have finished this, go upstairs and I will follow you.”
His manner was so serious that it took all the saucy daring out of me. Perhaps it saved me from playing Dixie. As soon as I could do so without attracting observation, I got Milicent to take my place, and went up-stairs to the private parlor.
I had hardly taken my seat when he came in.
“I was sorry to attack you so suddenly,” he said, “but you were so shy of me that it was my only chance.”
I had learned to like and to trust him; he was honest and kind, and I told him my situation frankly. Of course I didn’t explain Captain Locke.
“It is not so bad as it might be,” he said, “But you must have a care about your associates. People in this house are always more or less under observation, and arrest on charge of treason is not an unknown thing in it.”
“I am married—” When I came to that part of my confession the captain looked surprised indeed.
“Didn’t you guess from the dignity I have displayed that I was a matron?”
“I never dreamed it! I don’t mean that you were not dignified,” he added quickly, and in some confusion.