Indeed, it was no secret that my Aunt Caroline had been a Miss Flaven, of Philadelphia, though she would have had the fashion of our province to believe that she belonged to the Governor’s set there; and she spoke in terms of easy familiarity of the first families of her native city, deceiving no one save herself, poor lady.  How fondly do we believe, with the ostrich, that our body is hidden when our head is tucked under our wing!  Not a visitor in Philadelphia but knew Terence Flaven, Mrs. Grafton Carvel’s father, who not many years since sold tea and spices and soap and glazed teapots over his own counter, and still advertised his cargoes in the public prints.  He was a broad and charitable-minded man enough, and unassuming, but gave way at last to the pressure brought upon him by his wife and daughter, and bought a mansion in Front Street.  Terence Flaven never could be got to stay there save to sleep, and preferred to spend his time in his shop, which was grown greatly, chatting with his customers, and bowing the ladies to their chariots.  I need hardly say that this worthy man was on far better terms than his family with those personages whose society they strove so hard to attain.

At the time of Miss Flaven’s marriage to my uncle ’twas a piece of gossip in every month that he had taken her for her dower, which was not inconsiderable; though to hear Mr. and Mrs. Grafton talk they knew not whence the next month’s provender was to come.  They went to live in Kent County, as I have said, spending some winters in Philadelphia, where Mr. Grafton was thought to have interests, though it never could be discovered what his investments were.  On hearing of his marriage, which took place shortly before my father’s, Mr. Carvel expressed neither displeasure nor surprise.  But he would not hear of my mother’s request to settle a portion upon his younger son.

“He has the Kent estate, Bess,” said he, “which is by far too good for him.  Never doubt but that the rogue can feather his own nest far better than can I, as indeed he hath already done.  And by the Lord,” cried Mr. Carvel, bringing his fist down upon the card-table where they sat, “he shall never get another farthing of my money while I live, nor afterwards, if I can help it!  I would rather give it over to Mr. Carroll to found a nunnery.”

And so that matter ended, for Mr. Carvel could not be moved from a purpose he had once made.  Nor would he make any advances whatsoever to Grafton, or receive those hints which my uncle was forever dropping, until at length he begged to be allowed to come to Dr. Hilliard’s funeral, a request my grandfather could not in decency refuse.  ’Twas a pathetic letter in truth, and served its purpose well, though it was not as dust in the old gentleman’s eyes.  He called me into his bedroom and told me that my Uncle Grafton was coming at last.  And seeing that I said nothing thereto, he gave me a queer look and bade me treat them as civilly as I knew how.