It was pleasant--especially the Colonel’s jolly company, to say nothing of Petrarch’s, who highly approved of Pembroke, and remarked as he industriously brushed his clothes on the last night, “I clar, Marse French, you sutny do favor yo’ par. I ’member de time he made that argyument when Marse Jack Thornton, he mos’ kilt Marse Spott Randolph on ’count o’ Miss Tilly Corbin. We had ole wuks dat time. ’Twuz when me an’ Marse was co’tin’ missis. I tell yo’ par, ‘A eye fur a eye,’ ‘a toof fur a toof, an’ I will resist de cripplers, say de Lord.’ Marster an’ me went to de cote house ter hear him. I tho’t ’bout it de yether night, when de white folks was a crowdin’ ’roun’ an’ shakin’ yo’ han’ an’ clappin’ you on de back. Arter you went up st’yars, Miss Livy, she come an’ say to me, ‘Petrarch, did you hear de speech?’ I say, ‘Lord, honey, dat I did. You jes’ oughter seen de folks whoopin’ an’ hollerin’ and Marse French he stannin’ up, lookin’ handsome like he mar’--you aint forgit yo’ mar, has you, Marse French?” “No,” said Pembroke. “I reklecks her when she warn’t no older ’n Miss Livy. She was kinder light on her feet like Miss Livy, and she had dem shinin’ eyes, an dat ar way Miss Livy got o’ larfin’ at yer. She an’ mistis’ was mighty good frien’s, jes’ like you par an’ marse, an’ David an’ Jonadab. Dey use ter come here an’ stay a week--yo’ mar come in de kerridge wid Miss ’Lizbeth an’ Marse Miles, an’ yaller Betsy--she was a likely nigger, but a dretful sinner,--an’ you on a little pony ridin’ by yo’ par’s side. Lordy how you did useter tease Miss Livy an’ dem chillen! Some times you mek Miss Livy cry--an’ cry, an’ de tears wuz like de waters o’ Babylon.” “What a brute I must have been! Why didn’t you or yellow Betsy get me a lathering?” “Hi, Marse French, boys is boys. Dey c’yarn help bein’ troublesome an’ dirty an’ teasin’. Gord done made ’em so. ‘My people is rambunctious,’ He say, an’ I ain’t never seen no boys ’cept what was dirty an’ tormentin’.” At last, Pembroke felt he had no excuse for remaining longer at Isleham, and besides, he was seriously afraid of falling in love with Olivia. So he took his way back to Malvern. While at Isleham, he had got one or two cocked-hatted notes from Madame Koller. But on reaching home he found that one arrived with great regularity every morning and occasionally during the day beside. The tenor of all was the same. Why did he not come to see his friend. She was so lonely. The country was _triste_ at best. Pembroke felt very like asking her if the country was so triste then why did she not go away. But he was a gentleman as well as a man, and was patient with women even in their follies.