e was the lady of Woodlawn this morning, for she
had just passed through a little conjugal scene with her husband, whom
she had called a _brute_, lamenting the dispensation of Providence which
took from her "her beloved Sir Arthur, who always thought whatever she
said was right," and ending by throwing herself in the most theatrical
manner upon the sofa in the parlor, where, with both her blood and
temper at a boiling heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid, but recently
purchased, announced the approach of a carriage.

"Mercy," exclaimed the distressed lady, "whose is it? I hope no one
will ask for me."

"Reckon how it's Marster Livingstone's carriage, 'case thar's Tom on the
box," answered the girl, who had her own private reason for knowing Tom
at any distance.

"Mrs. Livingstone, I'll venture to say," groaned Mrs. Graham, burying
her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the silken cushions.
"Just because I stopped there a few days last summer, she thinks she
must run here every week; and there's no way of escaping her. Do shut
that blind; it lets in so much light. There, would you think I'd been
crying?"

"Lor, no," returned the stupid servant, "Lor, no; I should sooner think
your eyes and face were swelled with _pisen_."

"The Lord help me," exclaimed Mrs. Graham, "you don't begin to know as
much as poor Charlotte did. She was a jewel, and I don't see anything
what she wanted to die for, just as I had got her well trained; but
that's all the thanks I ever get for my goodness. Now go quick, and
tell her I've got an excruciating headache."

"If you please, miss," said the girl, trying in vain to master the big
word, "if you please, give me somethin' shorter, 'case I done forgit
that ar, sartin'."

"Fool! Idiot!" exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for want of something
better, one of her satin slippers at the woolly head, which dodged out
of the door in time to avoid it.

"Is your mistress at home?" asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Martha,
uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, "Yes--no--I dun know,
'case she done driv me out afore I know'd whether she was at home or
not."

"Martha, show the lady this way," called out Mrs. Graham, who was
listening. "Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it you. I'm glad to see you,"
said she, half rising and shading her swollen eyes with her hand, as if
the least effort were painful. "You must excuse my dishabille, for I am
suffering from a bad headache, and when Martha sa