“You are not like her, honey,” he said: “You may see for yourself. You are more like your Aunt Bess, who lived in Baltimore, and she--” “I know,” said Virginia, “she was the image of the beauty, Dorothy Manners, who married my great-grandfather.” “Yes, Jinny,” replied the Colonel, smiling. “That is so. You are somewhat like your great-grandmother.” “Somewhat!” cried Virginia, putting her hand over his mouth, “I like that. You and Captain Lige are always afraid of turning my head. I need not be a beauty to resemble her. I know that I am like her. When you took me on to Calvert House to see Uncle Daniel that time, I remember the picture by, by--” “Sir Joshua Reynolds.” “Yes, Sir Joshua.” “You were only eleven,” says the Colonel. “She is not a difficult person to remember.” “No,” said Mr. Carvel, laughing, “especially if you have lived with her.” “Not that I wish to be that kind,” said Virginia, meditatively,--“to take London by storm, and keep a man dangling for years.” “But he got her in the end,” said the Colonel. “Where did you hear all this?” he asked. “Uncle Daniel told me. He has Richard Carvel's diary.” “And a very honorable record it is,” exclaimed the Colonel. “Jinny, we shall read it together when we go a-visiting to Culvert House. I remember the old gentleman as well as if I had seen him yesterday.” Virginia appeared thoughtful. “Pa,” she began, “Pa, did you ever see the pearls Dorothy Carvel wore on her wedding day? What makes you jump like that? Did you ever see them?” “Well, I reckon I did,” replied the Colonel, gazing at her steadfastly. “Pa, Uncle Daniel told me that I was to have that necklace when I was old enough.” “Law!” said the Colonel, fidgeting, “your Uncle Daniel was just fooling you.” “He's a bachelor,” said Virginia; “what use has he got for it?” “Why,” says the Colonel, “he's a young man yet, your uncle, only fifty-three. I've known older fools than he to go and do it. Eh, Ned?” “Yes, marsa. Yes, suh. I've seed 'em at seventy, an' shufflin' about peart as Marse Clarence's gamecocks. Why, dar was old Marse Ludlow--” “Now, Mister Johnson,” Virginia put in severely, “no more about old Ludlow.” Ned grinned from ear to ear, and in the ecstasy of his delight dropped the Colonel's clothes-brush. “Lan' sakes!” he cried, “ef she ain't recommembered.” Recovering his gravity and the brush simultaneously, he made Virginia a low bow. “Mornin', Miss Jinny. I sholy is gwinter s'lute you dis day. May de good Lawd make you happy, Miss Jinny, an' give you a good husban'--” “Thank you, Mister Johnson, thank you,” said Virginia, blushing. “How come she recommembered, Marse Comyn? Dat's de quality. Dat's why. Doan't you talk to Ned 'bout de quality, Marsa.” “And when did I ever talk to you about the quality, you scalawag?” asks the Colonel, laughing. “Th' ain't none 'cept de bes' quality keep they word dat-a-way,” said Ned, as he went off to tell Uncle Ben in the kitchen.