The Man in Gray | Page 2

leader of the music with the sole right to call the
dances, although he played only the triangle in the orchestra. He was in
high fettle.
When the first carriage entered the grounds his keen ear caught the
crunch of wheels on the gravel. He hurried to call the mistress and
young misses to their places at the door. He also summoned the boys
from their rooms upstairs. He had seen the flash of spotless white in the
carriage. It meant beauty calling to youth on the hill. Sam knew.
Phil came downstairs with Custis. The spacious sweep of the hall, its
waxed floor clear of furniture, with hundreds of blinking candles
flashing on its polished surface, caught his imagination. It was a fairy
world--this generous Southern home. In spite of its wide spaces, and its
dignity, it was friendly. It caught his boy's heart.
Mrs. Lee was just entering. Custis' eyes danced at the sight of his
mother in full dress. He grasped Phil's arm and whispered:

"Isn't my mother the most beautiful woman you ever saw?"
He spoke the words half to himself. It was the instinctive worship of
the true Southern boy, breathed in genuine reverence, with an awe that
was the expression of a religion.
"I was just thinking the same thing, Custis," was the sober reply.
"I beg your pardon, Phil," he hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean to
brag about my mother to you. It just slipped out. I couldn't help it. I was
talking to myself."
"You needn't apologize. I know how you feel. She's already made me
think I'm one of you--"
He paused and watched Mary Lee enter from the lawn leaning on
Stuart's arm. Stuart's boyish banter was still ringing in her ears as she
smiled at him indulgently. She hurried to her mother with an easy,
graceful step and took her place beside her. She was fine, exquisite,
bewitching. She had never come out in Society. She had been born in it.
She had her sweethearts before thirteen and not one had left a shadow
on her quiet, beautiful face. She demanded, by her right of birth as a
Southern girl, years of devotion. And the Southern boy of the old
regime was willing to serve.
Phil stood with Stuart and watched Custis kiss a dozen pretty girls as
they arrived and call each one cousin.
"Is it a joke?" he asked Stuart curiously.
"What?"
"This cousin business."
"Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could help him,
do you?"
"Are they all kin?"

"Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and
third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from every
one--confound him!"
The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls
and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air.
Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from
sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech;
their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his
head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more
entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point
uniform he was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished
and pretended to be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself
about to believe one of them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in
earnest. And then he caught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark
eye and blushed to think himself such a fool.
But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirl of
foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him,
slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw a
quick glance at the pair and one of the four beauties hovering around
him began to whisper:
"Jeb Stuart's just crazy about Mary--"
"Did you ever see anything like it!"
"He couldn't stop even to say how-d'y-do."
"And she's utterly indifferent--"
Sam's voice suddenly rang out with unusual unction and deliberation.
He was imitating Uncle Ben's most eloquent methods.
"Congress-man and Mrs. Rog-er A. Pry-or!"
Mrs. Lee hastened to greet the young editor who had taken high rank in

Congress from the day of his entrance.
Mrs. Pryor was evidently as proud of her young Congressman as he
was of her regal beauty.
Colonel Lee joined the group and led the lawmaker into the library for
a chat on politics.
The first notes of a violin swept the crowd. The hum of conversation
and the ripple of laughter softened into silence. The dusky orchestra is
in place on the little platform. Sam, in all his glory, rises