His bride smiled at him beamingly. "You'd have felt right
lonesome to be
out of it, David."
"No
apology has yet been offered," continued Juno.
"But must your
nephew apologize besides
taking a licking?" inquired the
Briton.
Juno turned an awful face upon hint. "It is from his
brutal assailant
that apologies are due. Mr. Mayrant's family" (she paused here for
blighting emphasis) "are well-bred people, and he will be coerced into
behaving like a gentleman for once."
I checked an
impulse here to speak out and express my doubts as to the
family coercion being founded upon any
dissatisfaction with John's
conduct.
"I wonder if
reading or recitation might not
soothe your
nephew?" said
the poetess, now.
"I should doubt it," answered Juno. "I have just come from his bedside."
"I should so like to
soothe him, if I could," the poetess murmured. "If
he were well enough to hear my convention ode--"
"He is not nearly well enough," said Juno.
The et cetera here coughed and blew his nose so
remarkably that we all
started.
A short silence followed, which Juno relieved.
"I will give the young ruffian's family the credit they deserve," she
stated. "The whole
connection despises his keeping the position."
"Another et cetera now came into it. "Is it known what exactly
precipitated the
occurrence?"
Juno turned to him. "My
nephew is a gentleman from whose lips no unworthy
word could ever fall.'
"Oh!" said the et cetera,
mildly. "He said something, then?"
"He conveyed a well-merited
rebuke in
fitting terms."
"What were the terms?" inquired the Briton.
Juno again did not hear him. "It was after a friendly game of cards. My
nephew protested against any gentleman remaining at the custom house
since the recent insulting appointment."
I was now almost the only member of the party who had preserved strict
silence throughout this very interesting conversation, because, having no
wish to
converse with Juno at any time, I especially did not desire it
now, just after her
seeing me (I thought she must have seen me) in
amicable
conference with the object of her
formidable displeasure.
"Every Mayrant is
ferocious that I ever heard of," she continued. "You
cannot trust that
seeminglydelicate and human
exterior. His father had
it, too--deceiving
exterior and raging
interior, though I will say for
that one that he would never have stooped to
humiliate the family name as
his son is doing. His
regiment was near by when the Northern vandals
burned our
courthouse, and he made them run, I can tell you! It's a mercy
for that poor girl that the scales have dropped from her eyes and she has
broken her
engagement with him."
"With the father?" asked a third et cetera.
Juno stared at the intruder.
Mrs. Trevise drawled a calm
contribution. "The father died before this
boy was born."
"Oh, I see!" murmured the et cetera, gratefully.
Juno proceeded. "No woman's life would be safe with him."
"But mightn't he be safer for a person's niece than for their
nephew?"
said the Briton.
Mrs. Trevise's hand moved toward the bell.
But Juno answered the question mournfully: "With such hereditary
bloodthirstiness, who can tell?" And so Mrs. Trevise moved her hand away
again.
"Excuse me, but do you know if the other gentleman is laid up, too?"
inquired the male honeymooner, hopefully.
"I am happy to understand that he is," replied Juno.
In sheer
amazement I burst out, "Oh!" and
abruptly stopped.
But it was too late. I had
instantly become the centre of interest. The
et ceteras and honeymooners craned their necks; the Briton leaned toward
me from opposite; the poetess, who had worn an
absent expression since
being told that the injured
champion was not nearly well enough to listen
to her ode, now put on her glasses and gazed at me kindly; while Juno
reared her headdress and spoke, not to me, but to the air in my general
neighborhood.