“And has he told you of all his accomplishments so soon?” said Hansford, smiling; “for I hardly suppose you have seen a volume of his works, unless he brought it here with him. What else can he do? Perhaps he plays the flute, and dances divinely; and may-be, but for 'the vile guns, he might have been a soldier.' He looks a good deal like Hotspur's dandy to my eyes.”
“Oh, don't be so ill-natured,” said Virginia, “He never would have told about his writing poetry, but father guessed it.”
“Your father must have infinite penetration then,” said Hansford, “for I really do not think the young gentleman looks much as though he could tear himself from the mirror long enough to use his pen.”
“Well, but he has written a masque, to be performed day-after-to-morrow night, at the palace, to celebrate Lady Frances' birth-day. Are you not going to the ball. Of course you'll be invited.”
“No, dearest,” said Hansford, with a sigh. “Sir William Berkeley might give me a more unwelcome welcome than to a masque.”
“What on earth do you mean?” said Virginia, turning pale with alarm. “You have not—”
“Nay, you shall know all to-morrow,” replied Hansford.
“Tom,” cried Colonel Temple, in his loud, merry voice, “stop cooing there, and tell me where you have been all this time. I'll swear, boy, I thought you had been helping Berkeley to put down that d—d renegade, Bacon.”
“I am surprised,” said Hansford, with a forced, but uneasy smile, “that you should suppose the Governor had entrusted an affair of such moment to me.”
“Zounds, lad,” said the Colonel, “I never dreamed that you were at the head of the expedition. Oh, the vanity of youth! No, I suppose my good friends, Colonel Ludwell and Major Beverley, are entrusted with the lead. But I thought a subordinate office—”