"I can guess his last name," I remarked.
"General's? How? Oh, you've heard it! I don't believe in you any more."
"That's not a bit handsome, after my
confession" target="_blank" title="n.招供;认错;交待">
confession. No, I'm getting to
understand South Carolina a little. You came from the 'up-country,' you
call your dog General; his name is General Hampton!"
Her
laughter assented. "Tell me some more about South Carolina," she
added with her caressing insinuation.
"Well, to begin with--"
"Go sit down at your lunch-table first. Aunt Josephine would never
tolerate my encouraging gentlemen to talk to me over the
counter."
I went back obediently, and then resumed: "Well, what sort of people are
those who own the handsome garden behind Mrs. Trevise's!"
"I don't know them."
"Thank you; that's all I wanted."
"What do you mean?"
"They're new people. I could tell it from the way you stuck your nose in
the air."
"Sir!"
"Oh, if you talk about my hair, I can talk about your nose, I think. I
suspected that they were: 'new people' because they cleaned up their
garden immediately after the storm this morning. Now, I'll tell you
something else: the whole South looks down on the whole North."
She made her voice kind. "Do you mind it very much?"
I joined in her
latent mirth. "It makes life not worth living! But more
than this, South Carolina looks down on the whole South."
"Not Virginia."
"Not? An 'entire stranger,' you know, sometimes notices things which
escape the family eye--family likenesses in the children, for instance."
"Never Virginia," she persisted.
"Very well, very well! Somehow you've admitted the rest, however."
She began to smile.
"And next, Kings Port looks down on all the rest of South Carolina."
She now laughed outright. "An up-country girl will not deny that,
anyhow!"
"And finally, your aunts--"
"My aunts are Kings Port."
"The whole of it?"
"If you mean the thirty thousand negroes--"
"No, there are other white people here--there goes your nose again!"
"I will not have you so impudent, sir!"
"A thousand
pardons, I'm on my knees. But your aunts--" There was such a
flash of war in her eye that I stopped.
"May I not even mention them?" I asked her.
And suddenly upon this she became serious and gentle. "I thought that you
understood them. Would you take them from their seclusion, too? It is all
they have left--since you burned the rest in 1865."
I had made her say what I wanted! That "you" was what I wanted. Now I
should
presently have it out with her. But, for the moment, I did not
disclaim the "you." I said:--
"The burning in 1865 was
horrible, but it was war."
"It was outrage."
"Yes, the same kind as England's, who burned Washington in 1812, and whom
you all so deeply admire."
She had, it seemed, no answer to this. But we trembled on the verge of a
real quarrel. It was in her voice when she said:--
"I think I interrupted you."
I pushed the risk one step nearer the verge, because of the words I
wished finally to reach. "In 1812, when England burned our White House
down, we did not sit in the ashes; we set about
rebuilding."
And now she burst out. "That's not fair, that's
perfectly inexcusable!
Did England then set loose on us a pack of black savages and politicians
to help us
rebuild? Why, this very day I cannot walk on the other side of
the river, I dare not
venture off the New Bridge; and you who first beat
us and then unleashed the blacks to riot in a new 'equality' that they
were no more fit for than so many apes, you sat back at ease in your
victory and your progress, having handed the vote to the negro as you
might have handed a
kerosene lamp to a child of three, and let us
crushed,
breathless people cope with the chaos and
destruction that never
came near you. Why, how can you dare--" Once again,
admirably she pulled
herself up as she had done when she spoke of the President. "I mustn't!"
she declared, half whispering, and then more clearly and
calmly, "I
mustn't." And she shook her head as if shaking something off. "Nor must