“It is nonsense!” said the officer; “sheer nonsense! You have strange notions, madam, as to what is good news. It is only another rebel lie.”
“I think not,” said I, venturing to add that men who could kill squirrels would rarely miss a man, and that many of the older farmers had fought Indians and French, and had, I suspected, picked off the officers.
“How horrid!” said Darthea.
Had a stray bullet found my cousin I should not have grieved profoundly.
“You see where all your neutrality and loyalty have brought you,” said Mistress Wynne. “I wish King George were with Mr. Gage; he might learn wisdom. ‘T is but the beginning of a good end.”
“May I remind you,” said Woodville, very red in the face, “that I am his Majesty’s officer?”
“No, you may not remind me. A fig for his Majesty!” cried my aunt, now in one of her tantrums.
“Shame!” cried Mrs. Ferguson, rising, as did the rest, some in tears and some saying Mrs. Ferguson was right, or the Lord knows what—not at all a pleasant scene; the men very silent, or vexed, or troubled.
My Aunt Gainor, as they filed out, made them each her finest curtsey. Darthea stood still, looking grave enough. Mr. Woodville, the lieutenant, lingered, made his adieus very decently, and went out, I showing him the way. On the step he said: “I do not quarrel with women; but I have heard that in Mistress Wynne’s house, to which, as an officer of his Majesty, I cannot submit.”
“Well?” I said; and my abominable propensity to grin got the better of me.