"No, he is no friend to Mr. Jefferson. The room looks well, sweetheart. But some day you shall have a much grander one, all light and splendour, and larger flowers than these--" His wife rested her head against his shoulder. "I don't want it, Lewis. It is only you who care for magnificence. Sometimes I wonder that you should so care." "It is my mother in me," he answered. "She cared--poor soul. But I don't want magnificence for myself. I want it for you--" "You must not want it for me," cried Jacqueline, with wistful passion. "I am happy here, and I am happy at Roselands--but I was happiest of all in the house on the Three-Notched Road!" There was a moment's silence, then Rand spoke slowly. "I was not born for content. I am urged on--and on--and I cannot always tell right from wrong. There is a darkness within me--I wish it were light instead!" He laughed. "But if wishes were horses, beggars might ride!--And you've cut all your pretty bright flowers! After supper, before we begin our talk, you must sing to him. They say his daughter is an accomplished and beautiful woman. But you--you are Beauty, Jacqueline!" The knocker sounded. "That is he," exclaimed Rand, and went into the hail to welcome his guest. Jacqueline returned to the drawing-room, and waited there before the fire. She was dressed in white, with bare neck and arms and her mother's amethysts around her throat. In a moment the two men entered. "This is my wife, Colonel Burr," said Rand. Jacqueline curtsied. A small, slight, black-eyed, and smiling gentleman bowed low, and with much grace of manner took and kissed her hand. "Mr. Rand, now I understand the pride in your voice! Madam, I wish my daughter Theodosia were with me. She is my pride, and when I say that you two would be friends, I pay you both a compliment!" "I have heard much of her," answered Jacqueline, "and nothing but good. My husband tells me that you have been in the South--and in Virginia we are welcoming you with a snowstorm!" "The cold is all outside," said Colonel Burr. "Permit me--" He handed his hostess to the green-striped sofa, and seated himself beside her with a sigh of appreciation for the warmth and soft light of the pleasant room, and the presence of woman. "Your harp!" he exclaimed. "I should have brought a sheaf of Spanish songs such as the ladies sing to the guitar in New Orleans!--My dear sir, your fair wife and my Theodosia must one day sing together, walk hand in hand together, in that richer, sweeter land! They shall use the mantilla and wield the fan. Crowns are too heavy--they shall wear black lace!"