Jacqueline curtsied.  A small, slight, black-eyed, and smiling gentleman bowed low, and with much grace of manner took and kissed her hand.  “Mr. Rand, now I understand the pride in your voice!  Madam, I wish my daughter Theodosia were with me.  She is my pride, and when I say that you two would be friends, I pay you both a compliment!”

“I have heard much of her,” answered Jacqueline, “and nothing but good.  My husband tells me that you have been in the South—­and in Virginia we are welcoming you with a snowstorm!”

“The cold is all outside,” said Colonel Burr.  “Permit me—­”

He handed his hostess to the green-striped sofa, and seated himself beside her with a sigh of appreciation for the warmth and soft light of the pleasant room, and the presence of woman.  “Your harp!” he exclaimed.  “I should have brought a sheaf of Spanish songs such as the ladies sing to the guitar in New Orleans!—­My dear sir, your fair wife and my Theodosia must one day sing together, walk hand in hand together, in that richer, sweeter land!  They shall use the mantilla and wield the fan.  Crowns are too heavy—­they shall wear black lace!”

He spoke with not unpleasant brusqueness, a military manner tempered with gallantry, and he looked at Rand with quick black eyes.  “Yes, they must meet,” said Rand simply.  He spoke composedly, but he had nevertheless a moment’s vision of Jacqueline, away from the snow and the storm, walking in beauty through the gardens of a far country.  He saw her with a circlet of gold upon her head, a circlet of Mexican gold.  Crowns were heavy, but men—­ay, and women, too!—­fought for them.  Hers should be light and fanciful upon her head.  She should wear black lace if she chose,—­though always he liked her best in white, in her kingdom, in the kingdom he was going to help Aaron Burr establish.—­No! in the kingdom Aaron Burr should help Lewis Rand establish!  His dream broke.  He was not sure that he meant to come to an understanding with Burr.  It depended—­it depended.  But still he saw Jacqueline in trailing robes, with the gold circlet on her head.

Joab at the door announced supper, and the three went into the dining-room, where the red geraniums glowed between the candles.  Jacqueline took her place behind the coffee-urn, and Joab waited.

The meal went pleasantly on.  Colonel Burr was accomplished in conversation, now supple and insinuating as a courtier, now direct, forceful, even plain, as became an old soldier of the Revolution, always agreeable, and always with a fine air of sincerity.  The daughter of Henry Churchill did not lack wit, charm, and proper fire, and the Virginia hostess never showed her private feelings to a guest.  She watched over the stranger’s comfort with soft care, and met his talk with graceful readiness.  He spoke to her of her family:  of her grandfather, whose name had been widely known, of her father, whose praises he had heard sung, of Major Churchill, whom he had met in Philadelphia in