He rode several miles, persuading himself that he was enticed solely by the healthy exercise and the novelty of the scene.  But more alluring than the pleasant landscape and the fragrant air was the hope that, if he returned late, the young ladies might be on the piazza, or visible at the windows.  He was destined to be disappointed.  As he passed, a curtain was slowly withdrawn from one of the windows and revealed a vase of flowers.  He rode slowly, in hopes of seeing a face bend over the flowers; but the person who drew the curtain remained invisible.  On the piazza nothing was in motion, except the peacock strutting along, stately as a court beauty, and drawing after him his long train of jewelled plumage.  A voice, joyous as a bobolink’s, sounded apparently from the garden.  He could not hear the words, but the lively tones at once suggested, “Petit blanc, mon bon frere.”  He recalled the words so carelessly uttered, “Of course not, for she was a quadroon,” and they seemed to make harsh discord with the refrain of the song.  He remembered the vivid flush that passed over Rosa’s face while her playful sister teased her with that tuneful badinage.  It seemed to him that Mr. Fitzgerald was well aware of his power, for he had not attempted to conceal his consciousness of the singer’s mischievous intent.  This train of thought was arrested by the inward question, “What is it to me whether he marries her or not?” Impatiently he touched his horse with the whip, as if he wanted to rush from the answer to his own query.

He had engaged to meet Mr. Royal at his counting-house, and he was careful to keep the appointment.  He was received with parental kindness slightly tinged with embarrassment.  After some conversation about business, Mr. Royal said:  “From your silence concerning your visit to my house last evening, I infer that Mr. Fitzgerald has given you some information relating to my daughters’ history.  I trust, my young friend, that you have not suspected me of any intention to deceive or entrap you.  I intended to have told you myself; but I had a desire to know first how my daughters would impress you, if judged by their own merits.  Having been forestalled in my purpose, I am afraid frankness on your part will now be difficult.”

“A feeling of embarrassment did indeed prevent me from alluding to my visit as soon as I met you this morning,” replied Alfred; “but no circumstances could alter my estimate of your daughters.  Their beauty and gracefulness exceed anything I have seen.”

“And they are as innocent and good as they are beautiful,” rejoined the father.  “But you can easily imagine that my pride and delight in them is much disturbed by anxiety concerning their future.  Latterly, I have thought a good deal about closing business and taking them to France to reside.  But when men get to be so old as I am, the process of being transplanted to a foreign soil seems onerous.  If it were as well for them, I should greatly prefer returning to my native New England.”