"I think not," said Dr. Sevier; but somehow he recalled the old gentleman in button gaiters, who had called on him one evening to consult him about his sick wife. "A good man," said the colonel, looking amused; "and a superb gentleman. Is he as great a partisan of the church as he used to be?" "Greater! Favors an established church of America." The ladies were much amused. The host's son, a young fellow with sprouting side-whiskers, said he thought he could be quite happy with one of the finest plantations in Kentucky, and let the church go its own gait. "Humph!" said the father; "I doubt if there's ever a happy breath drawn on the place." "Why, how is that?" asked the colonel, in a cautious tone. "Hadn't he heard?" The host was surprised, but spoke low. "Hadn't he heard about the trouble with their only son? Why, he went abroad and never came back!" Every one listened. "It's a terrible thing," said the hostess to the ladies nearest her; "no one ever dares ask the family what the trouble is,--they have such odd, exclusive ideas about their matters being nobody's business. All that can be known is that they look upon him as worse than dead and gone forever." "And who will get the estate?" asked the banker. "The two girls. They're both married." "They're very much like their father," said the hostess, smiling with gentle significance. "Very much," echoed the host, with less delicacy. "Their mother is one of those women who stand in terror of their husband's will. Now, if he were to die and leave her with a will of her own she would hardly know what to do with it--I mean with her will--or the property either." The hostess protested softly against so harsh a speech, and the son, after one or two failures, got in his remark:-- "Maybe the prodigal would come back and be taken in." But nobody gave this conjecture much attention. The host was still talking of the lady without a will. "Isn't she an invalid?" Dr. Sevier had asked. "Yes; the trip down here last season was on her account,--for change of scene. Her health is wretched." "I'm distressed that I didn't call on her," said the hostess; "but they went away suddenly. My dear, I wonder if they really did encounter the young man here?" "Pshaw!" said the husband, softly, smiling and shaking his head, and turned the conversation. In time it settled down with something like earnestness for a few minutes upon a subject which the rich find it easy to discuss without the least risk of undue warmth. It was about the time when one of the graciously murmuring mulattoes was replenishing the glasses, that remark in some way found utterance to this effect,--that the company present could congratulate themselves on living in a community where there was no poor class. "Poverty, of course, we see; but there is no misery, or nearly none," said the ambitious son of the host. Dr. Sevier differed with him. That was one of the Doctor's blemishes as a table guest: he would differ with people.