hypocrisy, to be sure, but Mrs. Pinckney did not take the
trouble to veil her peccadilloes. Easy and indolent as she was, being
now thoroughly roused by his thinly-veiled contempt, she endeavored to
be disagreeable in her turn. With the most innocent air in the world
she exclaimed, "I declare, Dick, I believe you're in love with Miss
Featherstone, although you like fair women--"

"And she is dark," he interrupted.

"Regular features--"

"And her dear little nose is slightly _retroussee_; but you cannot
deny, Virginia, that she has a most captivating air."

"I'm fond of her, but I do not think her captivating." Mrs. Pinckney
was now thoroughly out of temper. She was not naturally envious, but
she could be roused to envy. "And so you're in love with her?"
satirically.

"How can I help it?" he returned with a mocking air. "She has
magnificent eyes, a bewildering smile: then she has that _je ne sais
quoi_, as our foreign friend would say. There is no defining it, there
is no assuming it. To conclude, I consider Miss Featherstone
dangerously attractive."

"Just what I told her you were," returned Mrs. Pinckney, who saw he was
trying to tease her, and had recovered by this time her equanimity. In
spite of his phlegm he looked interested. "You'd better take care and
make no reference to the war, for she is furiously loyal, I can tell
you," said Mrs. Pinckney, recalling the conversation. "Since when have
you been in love with her?"

"From the very first moment I saw her, when she entered the
dining-room, her cheeks brilliant from the cold, her lovely eyes,
blinded by the light, peering through their long lashes, a little
becoming embarrassment in her air as she saw your humble servant--laden
down with your bundles, and your children, as usual, clinging to her
skirts."

"Dick, how disagreeable you are!" and Mrs. Pinckney began to pout
again.

"We are all her lovers," he maliciously continued--"all the men
here--Doctor Harris, Mr. Brown and--" he bowed expressively.

"Doctor Harris?" exclaimed his sister-in-law. This defection cut her to
the heart.

"The day my namesake and godchild, little Dick, was ill I went to the
nursery, as in duty bound: you know how fond I am of that child. There
was Miss Featherstone, not the nurse, interested and concerned, sitting
by the patient. There was Doctor Harris, interested and absorbed with
Miss Featherstone. His looks were unmistakable: I saw it at a glance.
And as for Mr. Br