the second-best rooms in the tavern--my lord having the best, of course, according to his rank. The earl was a little wearied with all this, but bore with it civilly until the tavern-keeper bowed himself out, when William Fairfax burst in, delighted to see them. William was neither so tall nor so handsome as George, but he was a fine young fellow, overflowing with health and spirits. “The governor heard you were coming, sir,” cried William, “and stopped his coach in the street yesterday to ask me when you would arrive. I told him you had probably started, if my advices were correct, and that you would be accompanied by Mr. George Washington, brother of Mr. Laurence Washington, now of Mount Vernon, but late of the royal army. He said he much desired to meet Mr. Washington’s brother--for to tell you the truth, my lord, the governor loves rank and wealth in his provincial subjects--and, meaning to speak well for George, I told him a great deal of Mr. Laurence Washington’s lands and other wealth, and he smiled, or, rather, gaped, just like a great sheepshead at a bait.” “William, you should be respectful of dignitaries,” was the earl’s reply, although he smiled, while George laughed outright at William’s artful working upon the governor’s weaknesses. As soon as supper was over came a thundering knock upon the door, and the host ushered in Sir John Peyton, of Gloucester, a colonial dandy, whose pride it was that he had the handsomest foot and leg in the colony. Sir John was very elegantly dressed, and carried upon his left arm a muff, which effeminate fashion he had brought from England on his last visit. “Ah, my Lord Fairfax! Most happy to meet you,” cried Sir John, affectedly. “’Tis most unkind of you to pitch your tent in the wilderness, instead of gracing the viceregal court, where gentlemen of rank and wealth are sadly needed.” “Having experienced the hollowness of a regal court, Sir John, I can withstand all the attractions of any other,” was Lord Fairfax’s quiet and rather sarcastic reply. Sir John, not at all disconcerted, helped himself with a jewelled hand from a gold snuffbox, and then, leaning against the mantel, put his hands in his muff. “By all the loves of Venus, my lord, you and your young friend Mr. Washington should see some of the beautiful young ladies here. There is Mistress Martha Dandridge--odd’s life, if I were not pledged to die a bachelor I should sue for that fair maid’s hand; and Lady Christine Blair--born Stewart, who met and married Mr. Blair in Edinburgh--a dull, psalm-singing town it is. Lady Christine, having great beauty, illumines the college where her husband is professor. And the lovely, the divine Evelyn Byrd, and Mistress Tyler, who is one of those French Huguenots, and has a most bewitching French accent--all ladies worthy of your lordship’s admiration.”