His Sombre Rivals | Page 8

with him, and he now turned and said, "I hope, my
dear sir, that you may never carry around such a barometer as I am
afflicted with. A man with an infirmity grows a little egotistical, if not
worse."
"You have much consolation, sir, in remembering how you came by
your infirmity," Graham replied. "Men bearing such proofs of service
to their country are not plentiful in our money-getting land."
His daughter's laugh rang out musically as she cried, "That was meant
to be a fine stroke of diplomacy. Papa, you will now have to pardon a
score of blunders."
"I have as yet no proof that any will be made," the major remarked, and
in fact Graham had underrated his acquaintance with the game. He was
quite equal to his aunt in proficiency, and with Miss St. John for his
partner he was on his mettle. He found her skilful indeed, quick,
penetrating, and possessed of an excellent memory. They held their
own so well that the major's spirits rose hourly. He forgot his wound in
the complete absorption of his favorite recreation.
As opportunity occurred Graham could not keep his eyes from
wandering here and there about the apartment that had so taken his
fancy, especially toward the large, well-filled bookcase and the pictures,
which, if not very expensive, had evidently been the choice of a
cultivated taste.
They were brought to a consciousness of the flight of time by a clock
chiming out the hour of eleven, and the old soldier with a sigh of regret
saw Mrs. Mayburn rise. Miss St. John touched a silver bell, and a
moment later the same negress who had reminded her of her father's
impatience early in the evening entered with a tray bearing a decanter

of wine, glasses, and some wafer-like cakes.
"Have I earned the indulgence of a glance at your books?" Graham
asked.
"Yes, indeed," Miss St. John replied; "your martyr-like submission
shall be further rewarded by permission to borrow any of them while in
town. I doubt, however, if you will find them profound enough for your
taste."
"I shall take all point from your irony by asking if you think one can
relish nothing but intellectual roast beef. I am enjoying one of your
delicate cakes. You must have an excellent cook."
"Papa says he has, in the line of cake and pastry; but then he is partial,"
"What! did you make them?"
"Why not?"
"Oh, I'm not objecting. Did my manners permit, I'd empty the plate.
Still, I was under the impression that young ladies were not adepts in
this sort of thing."
"You have been abroad so long that you may have to revise many of
your impressions. Of course retired army officers are naturally in a
condition to import _chefs de cuisine_, but then we like to keep up the
idea of republican simplicity."
"Could you be so very kind as to induce your father to ask me to make
one of your evening quartette as often as possible?"
"The relevancy of that request is striking. Was it suggested by the
flavor of the cakes? I sometimes forget to make them."
"Their absence would not prevent my taste from being gratified if you
will permit me to come. Here is a marked volume of Emerson's works.
May I take it for a day or two?"

She blushed slightly, hesitated perceptibly, and then said, "Yes."
"Alford," broke in his aunt, "you students have the name of being great
owls, but for an old woman of my regular habits it's getting late."
"My daughter informs me," the major remarked to Graham in parting,
"that we may be able to induce you to take a hand with us quite often.
If you should ever become as old and crippled as I am you will know
how to appreciate such kindness.'"
"Indeed, sir, Miss St. John must testify that I asked to share your game
as a privilege. I can scarcely remember to have passed so pleasant an
evening."
"Mrs. Mayburn, do try to keep him in this amiable frame of mind,"
cried the girl.
"I think I shall need your aid," said that lady, with a smile. "Come,
Alford, it is next to impossible to get you away."
"Papa's unfortunate barometer will prove correct, I fear," said Miss St.
John, following them out on the piazza, for a thin scud was already
veiling the stars, and there was an ominous moan of the wind.
"To-morrow will be a stormy day," remarked Mrs. Mayburn, who
prided herself on her weather wisdom.
"I'm sorry," Miss St. John continued, "for it will spoil our fairy world of
blossoms, and I am still more sorry for papa's sake."
"Should the day prove a long, dismal, rainy one," Graham ventured,
"may I