Albert Charlton knew that for her to love was for her to give herself away without thought, without reserve, almost without the possibility of revocation.  Because he was so oppressed with dread in regard to the young man who walked and boated with Katy, courted and caressed her, but about the seriousness of whose intentions the mother seemed to have some doubt—­because of the very awfulness of his apprehensions, he dared not ask Kate anything.

The suspense was not for long.  On the second evening after Albert’s return, Smith Westcott, the chief clerk, the agent in charge of the branch store of Jackson, Jones & Co., in Metropolisville, called at the house of Plausaby.  Mr. Smith Westcott was apparently more than twenty-six, but not more than thirty years of age, very well-dressed, rather fast-looking, and decidedly blase.  His history was written in general but not-to-be-misunderstood terms all over his face.  It was not the face of a drunkard, but there was the redness of many glasses of wine in his complexion, and a nose that expressed nothing so much as pampered self-indulgence.  He had the reputation of being a good, sharp business man, with his “eye-teeth cut,” but his conversation was: 

“Well—­ha! ha!—­and how’s Katy?  Divine as ever! he! he!” rattling the keys and coins in his pocket and frisking about.  “Beautiful evening!  And how does my sweet Katy?  The loveliest maiden in the town!  He! he! ha! ha!  I declare!”

Then, as Albert came in and was introduced, he broke out with: 

“Glad to see you!  By George!  He! he!  Brother, eh?  Always glad to see anybody related to Kate.  Look like her a little.  That’s a compliment to you, Mr. Charlton, he! he!  You aren’t quite so handsome though, by George!  Confound the cigar”—­throwing it away; “I ordered a box in Red Owl last week—­generally get ’em in Chicago.  If there’s anything I like it’s a good cigar, he! he!  Next to a purty girl, ha! ha!  But this last box is stronger’n pison.  That sort of a cigar floors me.  Can’t go entirely without, you know, so I smoke half a one, and by that time I get so confounded mad I throw it away.  Ha! ha!  Smoke, Mr. Charlton?  No!  No small vices, I s’pose.  Couldn’t live without my cigar.  I’m glad smoking isn’t offensive to Kate.  Ah! this window’s nice, I do like fresh air.  Kate knows my habits pretty well by this time.  By George, I must try another cigar.  I get so nervous when trade’s dull and I don’t have much to do.  Wish you smoked, Mr. Charlton.  Keep a man company, ha! ha!  Ever been here before?  No?  By George, must seem strange, he! he!  It’s a confounded country.  Can’t get anything to eat.  Nor to drink neither, for that matter.  By cracky! what nights we used to have at the Elysian Club in New York!  Ever go to the Elysian?  No?  Well, we did have a confounded time there.  And headaches in the morning.  Punch was too sweet, you see.  Sweet punch is sure to make your headache.  He! he!  But I’m done with clubs and Delmonico’s, you know.  I’m going to settle down and be a steady family man.”  Walking to the door, he sang in capital minstrel style: