I bowed again; again it seemed fitting. “I had not, until now, known the charming girl’s name,” I murmured. My hostess now bowed slightly. “I am glad that you find her charming.” “Indeed, yes!” I exclaimed. “We, also, are pleased with her. She is of good family--for the up-country.” Once again our alphabet fails me. The peculiar shade of kindness, of recognition, of patronage, which my agreeable hostess (and all Kings Port ladies, I soon noticed) imparted to the word “up-country” cannot be conveyed except by the human voice--and only a Kings Port voice at that. It is a much lighter damnation than what they make of the phrase “from Georgia,” which I was soon to hear uttered by the lips of the lady. “And so you know about his wedding cake?” “My dear madam, I feel that I shall know about everything.” Her gray eyes looked at me quietly for a moment. “That is possible. But although we may talk of ourselves to you, we scarcely expect you to talk of ourselves to us.” Well, my pertness had brought me this quite properly! And I received it properly. “I should never dream--” I hastened to say; “even without your warning. I find I’m expected to have seen the young lady of his choice,” I now threw out. My accidental words proved as miraculous as the staff which once smote the rock. It was a stream, indeed, which now broke forth from her stony discretion. She began easily. “It is evident that you have not seen Miss Rieppe by the manner in which you allude to her--although of course, in comparison with my age, she is a young girl.” I think that this caused me to open my mouth. “The disparity between her years and my nephew’s is variously stated,” continued the old lady. “But since John’s engagement we have all of us realized that love is truly blind.” I did not open my mouth any more; but my mind’s mouth was wide open. My hostess kept it so. “Since John Mayrant was fifteen he has had many loves; and for myself, knowing him and believing in him as I do, I feel confident that he will make no connection distasteful to the family when he really comes to marry.” This time I gasped outright. “But--the cake!--next Wednesday!”