Olivia had long suspected Ellis of feeling a more than friendly interest in Clara.  Herself partial to Tom, she had more than once thought it hardly fair to Delamere, or even to Clara, who was young and impressionable, to have another young man constantly about the house.  True, there had seemed to be no great danger, for Ellis had neither the family nor the means to make him a suitable match for the major’s sister; nor had Clara made any secret of her dislike for Ellis, or of her resentment for his supposed depreciation of Delamere.  Mrs. Carteret was inclined to a more just and reasonable view of Ellis’s conduct in this matter, but nevertheless did not deem it wise to undeceive Clara.  Dislike was a stout barrier, which remorse might have broken down.  The major, absorbed in schemes of empire and dreams of his child’s future, had not become cognizant of the affair.  His wife, out of friendship for Tom, had refrained from mentioning it; while the major, with a delicate regard for Clara’s feelings, had said nothing at home in regard to his interview with her lover.

At the Chronicle office Ellis took the front seat beside the major.  After leaving the city pavements, they bowled along merrily over an excellent toll-road, built of oyster shells from the neighboring sound, stopping at intervals to pay toll to the gate-keepers, most of whom were white women with tallow complexions and snuff-stained lips,—­the traditional “poor-white.”  For part of the way the road was bordered with a growth of scrub oak and pine, interspersed with stretches of cleared land, white with the opening cotton or yellow with ripening corn.  To the right, along the distant river-bank, were visible here and there groups of turpentine pines, though most of this growth had for some years been exhausted.  Twenty years before, Wellington had been the world’s greatest shipping port for naval stores.  But as the turpentine industry had moved southward, leaving a trail of devastated forests in its rear, the city had fallen to a poor fifth or sixth place in this trade, relying now almost entirely upon cotton for its export business.

Occasionally our party passed a person, or a group of persons,—­mostly negroes approximating the pure type, for those of lighter color grew noticeably scarcer as the town was left behind.  Now and then one of these would salute the party respectfully, while others glanced at them indifferently or turned away.  There would have seemed, to a stranger, a lack, of spontaneous friendliness between the people of these two races, as though each felt that it had no part or lot in the other’s life.  At one point the carriage drew near a party of colored folks who were laughing and jesting among themselves with great glee.  Paying no attention to the white people, they continued to laugh and shout boisterously as the carriage swept by.

Major Carteret’s countenance wore an angry look.

“The negroes around this town are becoming absolutely insufferable,” he averred.  “They are sadly in need of a lesson in manners.”