THE quaint old house, and the straggling, half-kept grounds at Isleham were never lovelier than that spring. Sometimes the extreme quiet and repose had weighed upon Olivia’s spirits as it would upon any other young and vigorous nature. But now she had a good deal of a certain sort of excitement. She was country-bred, and naturally turned to the country for any home feeling she might have. The Colonel and Petrarch were a little bored at first. Both missed the social life at Washington. Pete had been a success in his own circle. His ruffled shirt-front, copied from his master’s, had won infinite respect among his own color. As for the natty white footmen and coachmen, their opinion and treatment, even their jeers, he regarded with lofty indifference, and classed them as among the poorest of poor white trash. His religion, too, had struck terror to those of the Washington darkies to whom he had had a chance to expound it. His liberal promises of eternal damnation, “an’ sizzlin’ an’ fryin’ in perdition, wid de devil bastin’ ’em wid de own gravy,” had not lost force even through much repetition. “Ole marse,” Petrarch informed Olivia, “he cuss ’bout dem dam towns, an’ say he aint had nuttin’ fittin’ ter eat sence he lef’ Verginny. Ole marse, he jis’ maraudin’ an’ cussin’ ’cause he aint got nuttin’ ter do. I lay he gwi’ back naix’ year. Ef he does, I got some preachments ter make ter dem wuffless niggers d’yar, totin’ de sins ’roun’ like twuz’ gol’ an’ silver.” It seemed as if Olivia were destined to suffer a good deal of secret mortification on Pembroke’s account. That last neglect of his had cut her to the soul. She had waked up to the fact, however, that Pembroke had taken his first rebuff in good earnest, and that nothing was left for her but that hollow pretense of friendship which men and women who have been, or have desired to be, more to each other, must affect. It was rather a painful and uncomfortable feeling to take around with her, when listening to Mrs. Peyton’s vigorous talk, or the Rev. Mr. Cole’s harmless sermons, and still more harmless conversation. But it was there, and it was unconquerable, and she must simply adjust the burden that she might bear it. The county was full of talk about Pembroke’s speech. The older people were sure that some information of his father’s great speeches in their court-house about 1849 must have reached Washington, and that Pembroke’s future was predicated upon them. Then there was a good deal in the newspapers about it. The Richmond papers printed the speech in full, together with a genealogical sketch of his family since the first Pembroke came over, with a grant of land from Charles the Second in his pocket. Likewise, Pembroke’s success was attributed almost wholly to his ancestry, and he himself was considered to have had a merely nominal share in it.