“Indeed, I think not, sir,” she said, with the same calmness. “Your direction is very plain, and I am accustomed to ride by myself.” “But, really,” began Mr. Effingham, somewhat piqued, “I know it is intrusive--I know I have not the honor--” She interrupted him with her immovable calmness. “You would say you do not know me, and that your offer is intrusive. I believe, sir, I do not consider it so--it is very kind; but I am not a fearful girl, and need not trouble you at all.” And so bowed. “One moment, madam,” said Mr. Effingham; “I am really dying with curiosity to know you. ’Tis very rude to say so, of course--but I am acquainted with every lady in the neighborhood, and I do not recall any former occasion upon which I had the pleasure--” “It is very easily explained, sir,” the young girl said. “Madam!” “I do not live in the neighborhood.” “Ah! no?” “And I am not a lady, sir. Does not that explain it?” Mr. Effingham scarcely believed his ears. These astounding words were uttered with such perfect calmness that there was no possible room to suppose that they were meant for a jest. “You are surprised, sir,” the young girl said quite simply and gravely. “Upon my word, madam,--never have I,--really--” “Your surprise will not last long, sir.” “How, madam?” “Do you ever visit the town of Williamsburg?” “Frequently.” “Well, sir, I think you will see me again. Now I must continue my way, having returned my sincere thanks for your kindness.” With which words, uttered in that wondrous voice of immovable calmness, the young girl again inclined her head, touched her white horse with the whip, and slowly rode out of sight. The young man continued his journey to Riverhead; arrived there, and after an animated conversation with the two attractive young ladies, he encountered the father, a fine, portly old gentleman, who met him. “Good morning, glad to see you.” Effingham bowed and said: “The morning was so fine that I thought I could not spend it more agreeably than in a ride to Riverhead, sir.” “Delightful! These August days are excellent for the corn; what news?” “Nothing, sir. I have not seen the ‘Gazette.’” “Oh, the ‘Gazette’ never contains any intelligence; sometimes, it is true, we hear what is going on in Parliament, but it never condescends to afford us any news from Virginia. The tobacco on the south side may be all gone to the devil for anything you read in the ‘Gazette.’ Here it is--an abominable sheet! Ah, I see we are to have a theatrical performance in Williamsburg next week,” added the old gentleman, on glancing over the paper. “Mr. Hallam and his Virginia company of comedians--very politic that addition of Virginia--are to perform ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ by permission of his worship, the Mayor, at the _old_ theater near the capital, he announces. Truly we are improving, really becoming civilized, in this barbarous _terra incognita_.”