CHAPTER XIV.

It was sunset when we arrived in Rosville, and found Mr. Morgeson waiting for us with his carriage at the station.  From its open sides I looked out on a tranquil, agreeable landscape; there was nothing saline in the atmosphere.  The western breeze, which blew in our faces, had an earthy scent, with fluctuating streams of odors from trees and flowers.  As we passed through the town, Cousin Charles pointed to the Academy, which stood at the head of a green.  Pretty houses stood round it, and streets branched from it in all directions.  Flower gardens, shrubbery, and trees were scattered everywhere.  Rosville was larger and handsomer than Surrey.

“That is my house, on the right,” he said.

We looked down the shady street through which we were going, and saw a modern cottage, with a piazza, and peaked roof, and on the side toward us a large yard, and stables.

We drove into the yard, and a woman came out on the piazza to receive us.  It was Mrs. Morgeson, or “My wife, Cousin Alice,” as Mr. Morgeson introduced her.  Giving us a cordial welcome, she led us into a parlor where tea was waiting.  A servant came in for our bonnets and baskets.  Cousin Alice begged us to take tea at once.  We were hardly seated when we heard the cry of a young child; she left the table hastily, to come back in a moment with an apology, which she made to Cousin Charles rather than to us.  I had never seen a table so well arranged, so fastidiously neat; it glittered with glass and French china.  Cousin Charles sent away a glass and a plate, frowning at the girl who waited; there must have been a speck or a flaw in them.  The viands were as pretty as the dishes, the lamb chops were fragile; the bread was delicious, but cut in transparent slices, and the butter pat was nearly stamped through with its bouquet of flowers.  This was all the feast except sponge cake, which felt like muslin in the fingers; I could have squeezed the whole of it into my mouth.  Still hungry, I observed that Cousin Charles and Alice had finished; and though she shook her spoon in the cup, feigning to continue, and he snipped crumbs in his plate, I felt constrained to end my repast.  He rose then, and pushing back folding-doors, we entered a large room, leaving Alice at the table.  Windows extending to the floor opening on the piazza, but notwithstanding the stream of light over the carpet, I thought it somber, and out of keeping with the cottage exterior.  The walls were covered with dark red velvet paper, the furniture was dark, the mantel and table tops were black marble, and the vases and candelabra were bronze.  He directed mother’s attention to the portraits of his children, explaining them, while I went to a table between the windows to examine the green and white sprays of some delicate flower I had never before seen.  Its fragrance was intoxicating.  I lifted the heavy vase which contained it; it was taken from me gently by Charles, and replaced.