“Aunt Josephine always makes strangers think she’s displeased with them.” I replied like the young ass which I constantly tell myself I have ceased to be: “Oh, displeasure is as much notice as one is entitled to from Miss St. Michael.” The girl laughed with her delightful sweet mockery. “I declare, you’re huffed! Now don’t tell me you’re not. But you mustn’t be. When you know her, you’ll know that that awful manner means Aunt Josephine is just being shy. Why, even I’m not afraid of her George Washington glances any more!” “Very well,” I laughed, “I’ll try to have your courage.” Over my chocolate and sandwiches I sat in curiosity discreditable, but natural. Who was in bed--who would have to shake hands? And why had they stopped talking when I came in? Of course, I found myself hoping that John Mayrant had put the owner of the Hermana in bed at the slight cost of a bruise above his left eye. I wondered if the cake was again countermanded, and I started upon that line. “I think I’ll have to-day, if you please, another slice of that Lady Baltimore.” And I made ready for another verbal skirmish. “I’m so sorry! It’s a little stale to-day. You can have the last slice, if you wish.” “Thank you, I will.” She brought it. “It’s not so very stale,” I said. “How long since it has been made?” “Oh, it’s the same you’ve been having. You’re its only patron just now.” “Well, no. There’s Mr. Mayrant.” “Not for a week yet, you remember.” So the wedding was on yet. Still, John might have smashed the owner of the Hermana. “Have you seen him lately?” I asked. There was something special in the way she looked. “Not to-day. Have you?” “Never in the forenoon. He has his duties and I have mine.” She made a little pause, and then, “What do you think of the President?” “The President?” I was at a loss. “But I’m afraid you would take his view--the Northern view,” she mused. It gave me, suddenly, her meaning. “Oh, the President of the United States! How you do change the subject!” Her eyes were upon me, burning with sectional indignation, but she seemed to be thinking too much to speak. Now, here was a topic that I had avoided, and she had plumped it at me. Very well; she should have my view. “If you mean that a gentleman cannot invite any respectable member of any race he pleases to dine privately in his house--”