And this, as I soon learned, was the more flattering, as she had already heard most of them at second-hand.
I can remember my bewilderment that first evening as I was relating the story of the duel, and she corrected me.
“Weren’t you much nearer?” she asked. “You fired at twenty paces.”
“So we did,” I cried, “but how could you know that?”
“Mr. Lowell told us,” she said.
“Lowell!” I shouted. “Has Lowell been here?”
“Yes, he brought us your sword,” Beatrice answered. “Didn’t you see where we placed it?” and she rose rather quickly, and stood with her face toward the fireplace, where, sure enough, my sword was hanging above the mantel.
“Oh yes,” said Aunt Mary, “Mr. Lowell has been very kind. He has come out often to ask for news of you. He is at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. We like him so much,” she added.
“Like him!” I echoed. “I should think you would! Isn’t that bully,” I cried, “to think of his being so near me, and that he’s a friend of yours already. We must have him out to-morrow. Isn’t he fine, Beatrice?”
She had taken down the sword, and was standing holding it out to me.