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I had done a brave thing to venture into the city, and she and Mr. Wynne felt strongly what a calamity my capture would have been. Darthea's friends were his friends. "And he is jealous too," says my lady, "of De Lancey, and Montresor and of Mr. Hugh Wynne."
If one has no gowns, it is at least a comfort to hear gossip. I told her so, but Lord! the woman does not care a rap if you do but let her talk. She says Joseph Warder is smit with Darthea's aunt, and what a fine courtship that will be! Old Duche, our preacher, is gone away with Sir William; and now we have my beautiful young man, Mr. White, at Christ Church."
You must have known Mistress Wynne to comprehend what scorn she put into poor Darthea's sad excuses, and her explanations of what could not be explained. I felt sorry for the little lady who was absent and was getting such small mercy. It was vain to try to stop my aunt. That no man and few women could do.
I took Darthea's little hand with a formal word or two, and, biding my time, sat down to talk with the two Margarets, whom folks called Peggy, although both were like stately lilies, and the pet name had no kind of fitness. The ombre-tables were set out and ready, and it was all gay and merry, and as if there might never have been war, either civil or social.
He was duly presented, and, I must say, made the most of his chances for two days, so that the elder dames were amused at Darthea's conquest, my cousin having so far shown no marked preference for any one except the elder Miss Franks, who was rich and charming enough to have many men at her feet, despite her Hebrew blood.
This was clearly Jack, but who was Pussy? "And Mr. Wynne not Darthea's Mr. Wynne, but the perverted Quaker with the blue eyes?" It was plain who this was. "Darthea's captain but I must not tell tales out of school; indeed he needs to be dealt with. Tell the witch if she will stay among the R. R.'s which is what we call them Ragged Rebels it is she must look to suffer. I am not as sure she does.
Darthea's letters to my aunt grew less and less frequent, and, as I thought, had an air of sadness unusual in this gladsome creature. Once she spoke of Captain Wynne as absent, and once that he, like Jack, had had a slight wound in the storm of Fort Washington. Of politics she could say nothing, as her letters had usually to pass our lines.
The floor was litered with torn paper, and in a drawer, forgot in Arthur's hurry, were many bills, paid and unpaid, some of which were odd enough; also many notes, tickets for the Mischianza, theatre-bills, portions of plays, my cousin was an admirable actor in light parts, and a note or two in Darthea's neat writing. I had no hesitation in putting them all on the hearth.
The same buzzing Tories were busy about me also with bugle and beak, but when, as I glanced at the letter, I caught Darthea's name on the second page, I forgot them and hesitated. "Still," thought I, "others have read it, and it may be well that I should do so." It was no longer private. I went on to learn what it said.
Upon this Jack got red, at the idea, I suppose, of Miss Darthea's contemplating the back of his head for four miles. The young woman looked on with shy amusement. At this moment Caesar, a much pampered person, who alone of all her house dared give my aunt advice, declared he must have a doctor.
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