CHAPTER XV

COMPANY TO SUPPER

Jacqueline arranged the flowers, cut from her window stand, in the porcelain vase, and set the vase with care in the centre of the polished table.  All was in order, from the heavy damask napkins and the Chelsea plates to the silver candlesticks and the old cut-glass.  She turned her graceful head, and called to her husband, whose step she heard in the adjoining room.  He came, and, standing beside her, surveyed the mahogany field.  “Is there anything lacking?” she asked.

He turned and kissed her.  “Only that you should be happy!” he said.

“If I am not,” she answered, “he will never find it out!  But when I see him, I shall hear that fatal shot!”

“He will make you quite forget it.  All women like him.”

“Then I shall be the exception.  General Hamilton was Uncle Edward’s friend.  At Fontenoy they’ll call it insult that I have talked with this man!”

“They will not know,” Rand replied.  “It was an honest duel fought nigh two years ago.  Forget—­forget!  There’s so much one must forget.  Besides, others are forgiving.  There is not now the old enmity between him and the Federalists.”  “No?” said Jacqueline.  “Why is that?”

“I cannot tell you, but old differences are being smoothed over.  It is rather the Republicans who are out with him.”

“I know that he is no friend to Mr. Jefferson.”

“No, he is no friend to Mr. Jefferson.  The room looks well, sweetheart.  But some day you shall have a much grander one, all light and splendour, and larger flowers than these—­”

His wife rested her head against his shoulder.  “I don’t want it, Lewis.  It is only you who care for magnificence.  Sometimes I wonder that you should so care.”

“It is my mother in me,” he answered.  “She cared—­poor soul.  But I don’t want magnificence for myself.  I want it for you—­”

“You must not want it for me,” cried Jacqueline, with wistful passion.  “I am happy here, and I am happy at Roselands—­but I was happiest of all in the house on the Three-Notched Road!”

There was a moment’s silence, then Rand spoke slowly.  “I was not born for content.  I am urged on—­and on—­and I cannot always tell right from wrong.  There is a darkness within me—­I wish it were light instead!” He laughed.  “But if wishes were horses, beggars might ride!—­And you’ve cut all your pretty bright flowers!  After supper, before we begin our talk, you must sing to him.  They say his daughter is an accomplished and beautiful woman.  But you—­you are Beauty, Jacqueline!”

The knocker sounded.  “That is he,” exclaimed Rand, and went into the hail to welcome his guest.  Jacqueline returned to the drawing-room, and waited there before the fire.  She was dressed in white, with bare neck and arms and her mother’s amethysts around her throat.  In a moment the two men entered.  “This is my wife, Colonel Burr,” said Rand.