FullReads

They walked out into the old garden when the feast was over, and continued their somewhat excited discussion of the decline of shipping, on the seats of the ancient latticed summer-house. There Mrs. French surprised them by bringing out a tray of coffee, served in the handsome old cups which the captain’s father had brought home from France. She was certainly a good-looking woman, and stepped modestly and soberly along the walk between the mallows and marigolds. Her feminine rivals insisted that she looked both bold and sly, but she minded her work like a steam-tug, as the captain whispered admiringly to his friends.

“Ain’t never ascertained where she came from last, have ye?” inquired Captain Alister, emboldened by the best Madeira and the good-fellowship of the occasion.

“I’m acquainted with all I need to know,” answered Captain Ball, shortly; but his face darkened, and when his guests finished their coffee they thought it was high time to go away.

Everybody was sorry that a jarring note had been struck on so delightful an occasion, but it could not be undone. On the whole, the dinner was an uncommon pleasure, and the host walked back into the house to compliment his housekeeper, though the sting of his friend’s untimely question expressed itself by a remark that they had made most too much of an every-day matter by having the coffee in those best cups.

Mrs. French laughed. “‘T will give ’em something to talk about; ‘t was excellent good coffee, this last you got, anyway,” and Captain Asaph walked away, restored to a pleased and cheerful frame of mind. When he waked up after a solid after-dinner nap, Mrs. French, in her decent afternoon gown, as calm as if there had been no company to dinner, was just coming down the front stairs.

She seated herself by the window, and pretended to look into the street. The captain shook his newspaper at an invading fly. It was early September and flies were cruelly persistent. Somehow his nap had not entirely refreshed him, and he watched his housekeeper with something like disapproval.

“I want to talk with you about something, sir,” said Mrs. French.

“She’s going to raise her pay,” the captain grumbled to himself. “Well, speak out, can’t ye ma’am?” he said.

“You know I’ve been sayin’ all along that you ought to get your niece”–

“She’s my great -niece,” blew the captain, “an’ I don’t know as I want her.” The awful certainty came upon him that those hints were well-founded about Mrs. French’s determination to marry him, and his stormy nature rose in wild revolt. “Can’t you keep your place, ma’am?” and he gave a great whoo! as if he were letting off superabundant steam. She might prove to carry too many guns for him, and he grew very red in the face. It was a much worse moment than when a vessel comes driving at you amidships out of the fog.

“Why, yes, sir, I should be glad to keep my place,” said Mrs. French, taking the less grave meaning of his remark by instinct, if not by preference; “only it seems your duty to let your great-niece come some time or other, and I can go off. Perhaps it is an untimely season to speak, about it, but, you see, I have had it in mind, and now I’ve got through with the preserves, and there’s a space between now and house-cleaning, I guess you’d better let the young woman come. Folks have got wind about your refusing her earlier, and think hard of me: my position isn’t altogether pleasant,” and she changed color a little, and looked him full in the face.

The captain’s eyes fell. He did owe her something. He never had been so comfortable in his life, on shore, as she had made him. She had heard some cursed ill-natured speeches, and he very well knew that a more self-respecting woman never lived. But now her moment of self-assertion seemed to have come, and, to use his own words, she had him fast. Stop! there was a way of escape.