She rose and, slipping past Unity, moved up the aisle to the Carrington pew.  The two left behind looked after the gliding white figure in silence.  Unity sighed.  “To me Lewis Rand’s like a giant, and she’s like his captive.  And yet—­and yet there’s much that’s likeable in the giant, and I can perfectly well see how the captive might adore him!”

“I can’t,” retorted the other.  “I’ll grant his ability, but there’s a little worm at the heart!  Even his genius will one day turn against him; it is the tree too tall that falls the soonest.  He’s not coming here to-day?”

“No.  He’s out of town.  All the Republican papers are wondering why the President did not include him among the counsel for the Government.”

“I dare say,” said the younger Cary grimly.  “Well, that would have been an entertainment worth hearing, that speech for the prosecution!”

“Don’t let’s talk of him any more.  I feel a traitor to Jacqueline when I do.  How slow the people are in coming!”

“They may stay away as long as they please,” murmured her lover.  “I like a quiet time for worship before all the fuss and flutter.  You should always wear blue, Unity.”

“You told me yesterday that I should always wear pink.  At last, here enters a man!”

“It is Winfield Scott, just up from Williamsburgh.  He doesn’t like the law and will go into the army.  Here are all the Randolphs and the beautiful Mrs. Peyton!”

Unity moved to let Jacqueline reenter the pew.  The church was beginning to fill, and the whispering and noise of fluttering fans increased.  All the windows were open to the breeze, and the soft scents and sounds and colours, the dimness within the church, and the August skies and waving trees without, combined to give a drowsy, mellow, and enchanted air to old Saint John’s and to the gathering people.

“The choir have come into the gallery,” said Fairfax Cary.  “I hear the scrape of Fitzwhyllson’s viol.”

“The quiet is over and here comes the world,” answered Jacqueline.  “Who is that with Mr. Wickham—­the tall, lean man?”

“It is the Governor of Tennessee and a fire-eater for Burr—­Andrew Jackson by name.  The third man is Luther Martin.”

“He may be learned in the law,” murmured Unity, “but I would like to know the University that taught him dress.  See, Jacqueline, Charlotte Foushee has the newest bonnet yet!”

“That is Commodore Truxtun coming in with Edmund Randolph.  He looks a seaman, every inch of him!  Who is the young gentleman in blue?”

“Oh, that,” replied Unity, “is Mr. Washington Irving of New York.  He has just returned from the Grand Tour, and he writes most beautifully.  He has sent me an acrostic for my keepsake that—­that—­”

“That I could not have written had I tried till doomsday,” finished Fairfax Cary.  “Do you like acrostics, Mrs. Rand?”

Jacqueline smiled.  “No, nor keepsakes either.  Unity and I both like strong prose and books with meanings.  Her facons de parler are many.”