"Which of them is idealizing?"This was the question that I asked myself,next morning,in my boarding-house,as I dressed for breakfast;the next morning is--at least I have always found it so--an excellent time for searching questions;and to-day I had waked up no longer beneath the strong,gentle spell of the churchyard.A bright sun was shining over the eastern waters of the town,I could see from my upper veranda the thousand flashes of the waves;the steam yacht rode placidly and competently among them,while a coastwise steamer was sailing by her,out to sea,to Savannah,or New York;the general world was going on,and--which of them was idealizing?It mightn't be so bad,after all.Hadn't I,perhaps,over-sentimentalized to myself the case of John Mayrant?Hadn't I imagined for him ever so much more anxiety than the boy actually felt?
For people can idealize down just as readily as they can idealize up.Of Miss Hortense Rieppe I had now two partial portraits--one by the displeased aunts,the other by their chivalric nephew;in both she held between her experienced lips,a cigarette;there the similarity ceased.
And then,there was the toboggan fire-escape.Well,I must meet the living original before I could decide whether (for me,at any rate)she was the "brute"as seen by the eyes of Mrs.Gregory St.Michael,or the "really nice girl"who was going to marry John Mayrant on Wednesday week.
Just at this point my thoughts brought up hard again at the cake.No;Icouldn't swallow that any better this morning than yesterday afternoon!
Allow the gentleman to pay for the feast!Better to have omitted all feast;nothing simpler,and it would have been at least dignified,even if arid.But then,there was the lady (a cousin or an aunt--I couldn't remember which this morning)who had told me she wasn't solicitous.What did she mean by that?And she had looked quite queer when she spoke about the phosphates.Oh,yes,to be sure,she was his intimate aunt!Where,by the way,was Miss Rieppe?
By the time I had eaten my breakfast and walked up Worship Street to the post-office I was full of it all again;my searching thoughts hadn't simplified a single point.I always called for my mail at the post-office,because I got it sooner;it didn't come to the boarding-house before I had departed on my quest for royal blood,whereas,this way,I simply got my letters at the corner of Court and Worship streets and walked diagonally across and down Court a few steps to my researches,which I could vary and alleviate by reading and answering news from home.
It was from Aunt Carola that I heard to-day.Only a little of what she said will interest you.There had been a delightful meeting of the Selected Salic Scions.The Baltimore Chapter had paid her Chapter a visit.Three ladies and one very highly connected young gentleman had come--an encouragingly full and enthusiastic meeting.They had lunched upon cocoa,sherry,and croquettes,after which all had been more than glad to listen to a paper read by a descendant of Edward the Third and the young gentleman,a descendant of Catherne of Aragon,had recited a beautiful original poem,entitled "My Queen Grandmother."Aunt Carola regretted that I could not have had the pleasure and the benefit of this meeting,the young gentleman had turned out to be,also,a refined and tasteful musician,playing,upon the piano a favorite gavotte of Louis the Thirteenth "And while you are in Kings Port,"my aunt said;"I expect you to profit by associating with the survivors of our good American society--people such as one could once meet everywhere when I was young,but who have been destroyed by the invasion of the proletariat.You are in the last citadel of good-breeding.By the way,find out,if you can,if any of the Bombo connection are extant;as through them I should like,if possible,to establish a chapter of the Scions in South Carolina.Have you,met a Miss Rieppe,a decidedly striking young woman,who says she is from Kings Port,and who recently passed through here with a very common man dancing attendance on her?He owns the Hermana,and she is said to be engaged to him."This wasn't as good as meeting Miss Rieppe myself;but the new angle at which I got her from my Aunt was distinctly a contribution toward the young woman's likeness;I felt that I should know her at sight,if ever she came within seeing distance.And it would be entertaining to find that she was a Bombo;but that could wait;what couldn't wait was the Hermana.I postponed the Fannings,hurried by the door where they waited for me,and,coming to the end of Court Street,turned to the right and sought among the wharves the nearest vista that could give me a view of the harbor.Between the silent walls of commerce desolated,and by the empty windows from which Prosperity once looked out,I threaded my way to a point upon the town's eastern edge.Yes,that was the steam yacht's name:the Hermana.I didn't make it out myself,she lay a trifle too far from shore;but I could read from a little fluttering pennant that her owner was not on board;and from the second loafer whom I questioned Ilearned,besides her name,that she had come from New York here to meet her owner,whose name he did not know and whose arrival was still indefinite.This was not very much to find out;but it was so much more than I had found out about the Fannings that,although I now faithfully returned to my researches,and sat over open books until noon,I couldn't tell you a word of what I read.Where was Miss Rieppe,and where was the owner of the Hermana?Also,precisely how ill was the hero of Chattanooga,her poor dear father?
