"Yes, he was," and Judithe gave a little sigh ending in a smile; "but one can't keep forever all the fine fellows one meets, and when they are so admirable in every way as Dumaresque, it seems selfish for one woman to capture them."

Mrs. McVeigh shook her head hopelessly over such an argument, but broke a tiny spray of blossom from a plant and fastened it in the lapel of Judithe's habit.

"It is not so gorgeous as the rose, but it is at least free from the pests."

Judithe looked down at the blossom admiringly. "I trust Mr. Loring will forgive my panic--I fear it annoyed him."

"Oh, no--not really. He is a trifle eccentric, but his invalidism gains him many excuses. There is no doubt but that you made a decided impression on him."

"I hope so," said Judithe.

Margeret entered the room just then, and with her hand on the door paused and stared at the stranger who was facing her. Judithe, glancing up, saw a pair of strange dark eyes regarding her. She noticed how wraith-like the woman appeared, and how the brown dress she wore made the sallow face yet more sallow. A narrow collar and cuffs of white, and the ap.r.o.n, were the only sharp tones in the picture; all the rest was brown--brown hair tinged with grey rippling back from the broad forehead, brown eyes with a world of patience and sadness in them and slender, sallow-looking hands against the white ap.r.o.n.

She looked like none of the house servants at the Terrace--in fact Judithe was a trifle puzzled as to whether she was a servant at all.

She had not a feature suggesting colored blood, was much more Caucasian in appearance than Louise.

It was but a few seconds they stood looking at each other, when Margeret made a slight little inclination of her head and a movement of the lips that might have been an apology, but in that moment the strange woman's face fairly photographed itself on Judithe's mind--the melancholy expression of it haunted her afterwards.

Mrs. McVeigh, noticing her guest's absorbed gaze, turned and saw Margeret as she was about to leave the room.

"What is it, Margeret?" she asked, kindly, "looking for Miss Gertrude?"

"Yes, Mistress McVeigh; Mr. Loring wants her."

"I think she must have gone to her room, she and Mistress Nesbitt went upstairs some time ago."

Margeret gently inclined her head, and pa.s.sed out with the noiseless tread Evilena had striven to emulate in vain that day at Loringwood.

"One of Miss Loring's retainers?" asked Judithe; "I fancied they only kept colored servants."

"Margeret _is_ colored," explained Mrs. McVeigh, "that is," as the other showed surprise, "although her skin does not really show color, yet she is an octoroon--one-eighth of colored ancestry. She has never been to the Terrace before, and she had a lost sort of appearance as she wandered in here, did she not? She belongs to Miss Loring's portion of the estate, and is very capable in her strange, quiet way.

There have been times, however, when she was not quite right mentally--before we moved up here, and the darkies rather stand in awe of her ever since, but she is entirely harmless."

"That explains her peculiar, wistful expression," suggested Judithe.

"I am glad you told me of it, for her melancholy had an almost mesmeric effect on me--and her eyes!"

All the time she was changing her dress for lunch those haunting eyes, and even the tones of her voice, remained with her.

"Those poor octoroons!" and she sighed as she thought of them, "the intellect of their white fathers, and the bar of their mothers' blood against the development of it--poor soul, poor soul--she actually looks like a soul in prison. Oh!"--and she flung out her hands in sudden pa.s.sion of impotence. "What can one woman do against such a mult.i.tude? One look into that woman's hopeless face has taken all the courage from me. Ah, the resignation of it!"

But when she appeared among the others a little later, gowned in sheer white, with touches of apple green here and there, and the gay, gracious manner of one pleased with the world, and having all reason to believe the world pleased with her, no one could suspect that she had any more serious problem to solve than that of arranging her own amus.e.m.e.nts.

Just now the things most interesting to her were the affairs of the Confederacy. Judge Clarkson answered all her questions with much good humor, mingled with amus.e.m.e.nt, for the Marquise, despite her American sympathies, would get affairs hopelessly mixed when trying to comprehend political and military intricacies; and then the gallant Judge would explain it all over again. Whether from Columbia or Charleston, he was always in touch with the latest returns, hopes, plans of the leaders, and possibilities of the Southern Confederacy, together with all surrept.i.tious a.s.sistance from foreign sources, in which Great Britain came first and Spain close behind, each having special reasons of their own for widening the breach in the union of states.

From Mobile there came, also, through letters to Mrs. McVeigh, many of the plans and possibilities of the Southern posts--her brother being stationed at a fort there and transmitting many interesting views and facts of the situation to his sister on her more Northern plantation.

Thus, although they were out of the whirl of border and coast strife, they were by no means isolated as regards tidings, and the fact was so well understood that their less fortunate neighbors gathered often at the Terrace to hear and discuss new endeavors, hopes and fears.

"I like it," confessed Judithe to Delaven, "they are like one great family; in no country in the world could you see such unanimous enthusiasm over one central question. They all appear to know so many of the representative people; in no other agricultural land could it be so. And there is one thing especially striking to me in comparison with France--in all this turmoil there is never a scandal, no intrigues in high places such as we are accustomed to in a court where Madame, the general's wife, is often quite as much of a factor in the political scene as the general himself; it is all very refreshing to a foreigner."

"Our women of the South," said the Judge, who listened, "are more of an inspiration because they are never a.s.sociated in our minds with any life but that of the home circle and its refining influences. When our women enter the arena, it is only in the heart and memory of some man whose ideals, Madame, are higher, whose ambitions are n.o.bler, because she exists untouched by the notoriety attaching itself to the court intrigues you mention, the notoriety too often miscalled fame."

"Right you are, Judge," said Delaven, heartily. "After all, human nature is very much alike whether in kingdom or republic, and men love best the same sort of women the world over."

Matthew Loring entered the room just then, leaning on the arm of Gertrude, whose fair hair made harmony with the corn-colored lawn in which she looked daintily pretty, and as the two ladies faced each other the contrasted types made a most effective picture.

"You have not met the Marquise de Caron?" he asked of Gertrude; and then with a certain pride in this last of the Lorings, he continued: "Madame la Marquise, allow me to present my niece, Miss Loring."

The blue eyes of the Carolina girl and the mesmeric amber eyes of the Parisian met, with the slight conventional smile ladies favor each other with, sometimes. There was decided interest shown by each in the other--an interest alert and questioning. Judithe turned brightly to Loring:

"In your democratic land, my dear sir, I have dispensed with 'La Marquise.' While here I am Madame Caron, very much at your service,"

and she made him a miniature bow.

"We shall not forget your preference, Madame Caron," said Gertrude, "it is a pretty compliment to our inst.i.tutions." Then she glanced at Delaven, "did we interrupt a dissertation on your favorite topic, Doctor?"

"Never a bit; it's yourself is an inspiration to continue the same topic indefinitely," and he explained the difference Madame Caron had noticed in political matter with and without the feminine element.

"For all that, there _are_ women in the political machines here, also," said Loring, testily--"too many of them, secret agents, spies, and the like. Gertrude, what was it Captain Masterson reported about some very dangerous person of that sort in New Orleans?--a woman whose a.s.sistance to the Yankees was remarkable, and whose circle of acquaintances was without doubt the very highest--did he learn her name?"

"Why, no, Uncle Matthew; don't you remember he was finding fault with _our_ secret agents because they had not established her ident.i.ty--in fact, had only circ.u.mstantial evidence that it was a woman, though very positive evidence that the person belonged to the higher social circle there."

"Faith, I should think the higher circle would be in a sorry whirl just then--not knowing which of your neighbors at dinner had a cup or dagger for you."

"The daggers were only figurative," said the Judge, "but they were none the less dangerous, and the shame of it! each innocent loyal Southerner convinced that a traitor had been made as one of themselves--trusted as is the nature of Southerners when dealing with friends, just as if, in this Eden-like abode, Mistress McVeigh should be entertaining in any one of us, supposed to be loyal Southerners, a traitor to his country."

"How dreadful to imagine!" said Judithe, with a little gesture of horror, "and what do they do with them--those dangerous serpents of Eden?"

"It isn't nice at all to hear about, Madame Caron," spoke Aunt Sajane, who was, as usual, occupied with the unlovely knitting. "It gave me chills to hear Phil Masterson say how that spy would be treated when found--not even given time for prayers!"

"Captain Masterson is most loyal and zealous, but given to slight extravagancies in such matters," amended the Judge. "No woman has ever suffered the extreme penalty of military law for spy work, in this country, and especially would it be impossible in the South.

Imprisonment indefinitely and the probable confiscation of all property would no doubt be the sentence if, as in this suspected case, the traitoress were a Southern woman of means. But that seems scarcely credible. I have heard of the affair mentioned, but I refuse to believe any daughter of the South would so employ herself."

"Thank you, Judge," said Gertrude, very prettily; "any daughter of the South would die of shame from the very suspicion against her."

"Who is to die?" asked Mrs. McVeigh, coming in; "all of you, and of hunger, perhaps, if I delay tea any longer. Come right on into the dining room, please, and let me hear this discussion of Southern daughters, for I chance to be a daughter of the South myself."

Captain Philip Masterson, from an adjoining plantation, arrived after they were seated at the table, and was taken at once into the dining room, where Judithe regarded with interest this extremist who would not allow a secret agent of the North time for prayers. He did not look very ferocious, though his manner had a bluntness not usual in the Southern men she had met--a soldier above and beyond everything else, intelligent, but not broad, good looking with the good looks of dark, curly hair, a high color, heavy mustache, which he had a weakness for caressing as he talked, and full, bold eyes roaming about promiscuously and taking entire advantage of the freedom granted him at the Terrace, where he had been received as neighbor since boyhood.

He was a cousin of Gertrude's, and it was not difficult to see that she was the first lady in the county to him, and the county was the center of Philip Masterson's universe.

He was stationed at Charleston and was absent only for some necessary business at Columbia, and hearing Judge Clarkson was at the Terrace he had halted long enough to greet the folks and consult the Judge on some legal technicality involved in his journey.

Pluto, who had seen that the Captain's horse had also been given refreshment, came thoughtfully up the steps, puzzling his head over the perfect rose cast aside on a pretense. It puzzled him quite as much as the problem of Louise; and the only key he could find to it was that this very grand lady knew all about the ident.i.ty of Louise, and knew why she had hurried away so when old Nelse recognized her.

He wished he had that picture of Margeret, brought by Rosa from Georgia. But it was still with a lot of Rosa's things over at the Larue plantation, with the child. He counted on going over to see the boy in a week at the furthest.

As he reached the top of the steps he could see Margeret through the open window of the sitting room. Her back was towards him, and she was so absorbed in regarding the party in the dining room that he approached unnoticed, and she turned with a gasp as of fear when he spoke:

"You're like to see more gay folks like that over here than you have at Loringwood," he remarked. "I reckon you glad to move."