“My dear madam, I feel that I shall know about everything.”

Her gray eyes looked at me quietly for a moment.  “That is possible.  But although we may talk of ourselves to you, we scarcely expect you to talk of ourselves to us.”

Well, my pertness had brought me this quite properly!  And I received it properly.  “I should never dream—­” I hastened to say; “even without your warning.  I find I’m expected to have seen the young lady of his choice,” I now threw out.  My accidental words proved as miraculous as the staff which once smote the rock.  It was a stream, indeed, which now broke forth from her stony discretion.  She began easily.  “It is evident that you have not seen Miss Rieppe by the manner in which you allude to her—­although of course, in comparison with my age, she is a young girl.”  I think that this caused me to open my mouth.

“The disparity between her years and my nephew’s is variously stated,” continued the old lady.  “But since John’s engagement we have all of us realized that love is truly blind.”

I did not open my mouth any more; but my mind’s mouth was wide open.

My hostess kept it so.  “Since John Mayrant was fifteen he has had many loves; and for myself, knowing him and believing in him as I do, I feel confident that he will make no connection distasteful to the family when he really comes to marry.”

This time I gasped outright.  “But—­the cake!—­next Wednesday!”

She made, with her small white hand, a slight and slighting gesture.  “The cake is not baked yet, and we shall see what we shall see.”  From this onward until the end a pinkness mounted in her pale, delicate cheeks, and deep, strong resentment burned beneath her discreetly expressed indiscretions.  “The cake is not baked, and I, at least, am not solicitous.  I tell my cousin, Mrs. Gregory St. Michael, that she must not forget it was merely his phosphates.  That girl would never have looked at John Mayrant had it not been for the rumor of his phosphates.  I suppose some one has explained to you her pretensions of birth.  Away from Kings Port she may pass for a native of this place, but they come from Georgia.  It cannot be said that she has met with encouragement from us; she, however, easily recovers from such things.  The present generation of young people in Kings Port has little enough to remind us of what we stood for in manners and customs, but we are not accountable for her, nor for her father.  I believe that he is called a general.  His conduct at Chattanooga was conspicuous for personal prudence.  Both of them are skillful in never knowing poor people—­but the Northerners they consort with must really be at a loss how to bestow their money.  Of course, such Northerners cannot realize the difference between Kings Port and Georgia, and consequently they make much of her.  Her features do undoubtedly possess beauty.  A Newport woman—­the new kind—­has even taken her to Worth!  And yet, after all, she has remained for John.  We heard a great deal of her men, too.  She took care of that, of course.  John Mayrant actually followed her to Newport.