“Not at all dull,” contradicted the general.  “You talk as if I were requiring you all to Selkirk on a ten acre island, instead of going to one of the pleasantest and most populous counties in the oldest state in the Union.  Mr. Byrd, the former owner of Shirley, told me that the neighborhood was very thickly settled and sociable.  I counted five gentlemen’s houses in sight myself.  Southerners, as a rule, are great visitors, and if the girls are lonely it will be their own fault.  They’ll have as much boating and dancing and tom-foolery as is good for them.”

“Are there any young men?” demanded Mrs. Smith, who recognized the necessity of an infusion of the stronger element to impart to social joys body and flavor.

“Yes, I guess so,” replied her husband indifferently, masculinity from over-association having palled on him; “there’s always men about everywhere, except back in the home villages in Maine—­they’re scarce enough there, the Lord knows!  I saw a good many about in the little village near Shirley—­Wintergreen, they call it.  One young fellow attracted my attention particularly; he was sitting on a tobacco hogshead, down on the wharf, superintending some negroes load a wagon, and I couldn’t get it out of my head that I’d seen his face before.  He was tall, and fair, and had lost an arm.  I must have met him during the war, I think, although I’ll be hanged if I can place him.”

Mrs. Smith looked interested.  “Perhaps you formerly knew him,” she remarked, cheerfully; “it’s a pity your memory is so bad.  Why didn’t you inquire his name of some one, that might have helped you to place him?”

“My memory is excellent,” retorted the general, shortly; for a man must resent such an insinuation even from the wife of his bosom.  “I’ve always been remarkable for an unusually strong and retentive memory, as you know very well—­but it isn’t superhuman.  At the lowest computation, I guess I’ve seen about a million men’s faces in the course of my life, and it’s ridiculous to expect me to have ’em all sorted out, and ticketed in my mind like a picture catalogue.  My memory is very fine.”

Mrs. Smith recanted pleasantly.  Her husband’s memory was good, for his age, she was willing to admit, but it was not flawless.  About this young man, now, it seemed to her that if she could remember him at all, she could remember all about him.  These hitches in recollection were provoking.  It would have been nice for the girls to find a young man ready to their hands, bound to courtesy by previous acquaintance with their father.

She regretted that her husband should fail to recall, and had neglected to inquire, the name of this interesting person; but the knowledge that he was there, and others besides him, ameliorated the rigor of the situation.