“You say that the Don loves Mary. Then wouldn’t it be sad if Lucy loved him? And you tell me that Mary loves the Don. Now wouldn’t it be too bad if the Don loved Lucy? Ought not true love to run smooth if it can?” Alice fixed her eyes upon Charley’s, and scanned his features long and intently. There was nothing to be seen there save a smile that was almost infantile in its sweetness and simplicity. “Do you think I am handsome?” asked he, languidly. “They tell me I am good.” “Do you know, Mr. Frobisher, I sometimes think you know more about the— There she goes, and he after her!” “Mr. Poythress,” Mary had said, laughing, “my defence of Byron has made my throat dry.” “Nor did it lack much of making our eyes moist,” replied he, with a courtly inclination of his patrician head. “Let me get you a glass of water,” interrupted the Don, moving towards the door. “Ah, thank you, never mind.” And rising hastily, she made for the door with a precipitancy that vexed Alice; for she saw in it a pointed indication of unwillingness on Mary’s part to accept even this little service at the hands of the Don. She moved so rapidly that she had passed in at the door before the Don could reach it; but he, whether or not he interpreted her motives as Alice did, followed her within the house. Instantly the cloud that had passed over Alice’s face was gone, and a sudden smile shone forth. She sprang to her feet. “Why do we tarry here all the day? It is moved and seconded that we adjourn to the Hall. Fall in, company! Attention! Shoulder—I mean seize arms!” And skipping away from Charley, she laid hands upon Mr. Poythress (“You take Mrs. Poythress,” she had whispered to Charley; “that will make them all come”), and away they marched down the steps and across the lawn, towards the Hall, Alice leading with her rataplan, rataplan, and enacting a sort of combination of captain, drum-major, and vivandière. Nothing so much delighted our slaves, in those days, as any jollity on the part of their masters. Happy and careless themselves, when they saw their betters unbend they realized more clearly, perhaps, that they were men and brothers. “Lord ’a’ mussy!” cried Aunt Polly at the kitchen door, letting fall a dish-cloth. “What dat, gal?” carelessly asked Uncle Dick, who sat breakfasting in his usual stately and leisurely fashion. Aunt Polly made no reply, being seized with a sudden paroxysm which caused her to collapse into half her normal stature. Straightening herself out again, and wiping her eyes with her apron, “Oh, Lord, _how_ long!” she ejaculated, giving the door-sill two simultaneous flaps with slippers that were a world too wide. “What’s a-comin’ next? dat’s all I wants to know.” And she began to rock to and fro. Seeing her for the second time telescope into a three-foot cook: “What de matter wid de gal?” said Uncle Dick, rising with dignity, and wiping his rather unctuous lips.