 | CHAPTER I. Home as found |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
“Good morrow,coz.
“Good morrow, sweet Hero.”
Shakspeare.
When Mr. Effingham determined to return home,
he sent orders to his agent to prepare his town-house
in New-York for his reception, intending to pass a
month or two in it, then to repair to Washington for a
few weeks, at the close of its season, and to visit his
country residence when the spring should fairly open.
Accordingly, Eve now found herself at the head
of one of the largest establishments, in the largest
American town, within an hour after she had landed
from the ship. Fortunately for her, however, her father
was too just to consider a wife, or a daughter, a mere
upper servant, and he rightly judged that a liberal portion
of his income should be assigned to the procuring
of that higher quality of domestic service, which can
alone relieve the mistress of a household from a burthen
so heavy to be borne. Unlike so many of those around
him, who would spend on a single pretending and comfortless
entertainment, in which the ostentatious folly
of one contended with the ostentatious folly of another,
a sum that, properly directed, would introduce order
and system into a family for a twelvemonth, by commanding
the time and knowledge of those whose study
they had been, and who would be willing to devote
themselves to such objects, and then permit their wives
sex seems doomed in this country, he first bethought
him of the wants of social life before he aspired to its
parade. A man of the world, Mr. Effingham possessed
the requisite knowledge, and a man of justice,
the requisite fairness, to permit those who depended on
him so much for their happiness, to share equitably in
the good things that Providence had so liberally bestowed
on himself. In other words, he made two people
comfortable, by paying a generous price for a
housekeeper; his daughter, in the first place, by releasing
her from cares that, necessarily, formed no
more a part of her duties than it would be a part of
her duty to sweep the pavement before the door; and,
in the next place, a very respectable woman who was
glad to obtain so good a home on so easy terms. To
this simple and just expedient, Eve was indebted for
being at the head of one of the quietest, most truly
elegant, and best ordered establishments in America,
with no other demands on her time than that which
was necessary to issue a few orders in the morning,
and to examine a few accounts once a week.
One of the first and the most acceptable of the visits
that Eve received, was from her cousin, Grace Van
Cortlandt, who was in the country at the moment of
her arrival, but who hurried back to town to meet her
old school-fellow and kinswoman, the instant she heard
of her having landed. Eve Effingham and Grace Van
Cortlandt were sisters' children, and had been born
within a month of each other. As the latter was without
father or mother, most of their time had been passed
together, until the former was taken abroad, when a
separation unavoidably ensued. Mr. Effingham ardently
desired, and had actually designed, to take his
niece with him to Europe, but her paternal grandfather,
who was still living, objected his years and affection,
and the scheme was reluctantly abandoned. This
grandfather was now dead, and Grace had been left,
of her own movements.
The moment of the meeting between these two
warm-hearted and sincerely attached young women,
was one of great interest and anxiety to both. They
retained for each other the tenderest love, though the
years that had separated them had given rise to so
many new impressions and habits that they did not prepare
themselves for the interview without apprehension.
This interview took place about a week after Eve was
established in Hudson Square, and at an hour earlier
than was usual for the reception of visits. Hearing a
carriage stop before the door, and the bell ring, our
heroine stole a glance from behind a curtain and recognized
her cousin as she alighted.
“Qu'avez-vous, ma chere?” demanded Mademoiselle
Viefville, observing that her élève trembled and grew
pale.
“It is my cousin, Miss Van Cortlandt—she whom
I loved as a sister—we now meet for the first time in
so many years!”
“Bien—c'est une très jolie jeune personne!” returned
the governess, taking a glance from the spot Eve had
just quitted. “Sur le rapport de la personne, ma chere,
vous devriez être contente, au moins.”
“If you will excuse me, Mademoiselle, I will go down
alone—I think I should prefer to meet Grace without
witnesses in the first interview.”
“Très volontiers. Elle est parente, et c'est bien naturel.”
Eve, on this expressed approbation, met her maid at
the door, as she came to announce that Mademoiselle
de Cortlandt was in the library, and descended slowly
to meet her. The library was lighted from above by
means of a small dome, and Grace had unconsciously
placed herself in the very position that a painter would
have chosen, had she been about to sit for her portrait.
A strong, full, rich light fell obliquely on her
features to the very best advantage, and they were
features and a person that are not seen every day,
even in a country where female beauty is so common.
She was in a carriage dress, and her toilette was rather
more elaborate than Eve had been accustomed to see,
at that hour, but still Eve thought she had seldom seen
a more lovely young creature. Some such thoughts,
also, passed through the mind of Grace herself, who,
though struck, with a woman's readiness in such matters,
with the severe simplicity of Eve's attire, as well
as with its entire elegance, was more struck with the
charms of her countenance and figure. There was,
in truth, a strong resemblance between them, though
each was distinguished by an expression suited to her
character, and to the habits of her mind.
“Miss Effingham!” said Grace, advancing a step to
meet the lady who entered, while her voice was scarcely
audible and her limbs trembled.
“Miss Van Cortlandt!” said Eve, in the same low,
smothered tone.
This formality caused a chill in both, and each unconsciously
stopped and curtsied. Eve had been so
much struck with the coldness of the American manner,
during the week she had been at home, and Grace
was so sensitive on the subject of the opinion of one
who had seen so much of Europe, that there was great
danger, at that critical moment, the meeting would terminate
unpropitiously.
Thus far, however, all had been rigidly decorous,
though the strong feelings that were glowing in the
bosoms of both, had been so completely suppressed.
But the smile, cold and embarrassed as it was, that
each gave as she curtsied, had the sweet character of
her childhood in it, and recalled to both the girlish and
affectionate intercourse of their younger days.
“Grace!” said Eve, eagerly, advancing a step or
two impetuously, and blushing like the dawn.
“Eve!”
Each opened her arms, and in a moment they were
locked in a long and fervent embrace. This was the
commencement of their former intimacy, and before
night Grace was domesticated in her uncle's house. It
is true that Miss Effingham perceived certain peculiarities
about Miss Van Cortlandt, that she had rather
were absent; and Miss Van Cortlandt would have felt
more at her ease, had Miss Effingham a little less
reserve of manner, on certain subjects that the latter
had been taught to think interdicted. Notwithstanding
these slight separating shades in character, however,
the natural affection was warm and sincere; and if Eve,
according to Grace's notions, was a little stately and
formal, she was polished and courteous, and if Grace,
according to Eve's notions, was a little too easy and
unreserved, she was feminine and delicate.
We pass over the three or four days that succeeded,
during which Eve had got to understand something of
her new position, and we will come at once to a conversation
between the cousins, that will serve to let the
reader more intimately into the opinions, habits and
feelings of both, as well as to open the real subject of
our narrative. This conversation took place in that
very library which had witnessed their first interview,
soon after breakfast, and while the young ladies were
still alone.
“I suppose, Eve, you will have to visit the Green's.
—They are Hajjis, and were much in society last winter.”
“Hajjis!—You surely do not mean, Grace, that they
have been to Mecca?”
“Not at all: only to Paris, my dear; that makes
a Hajji in New-York.”
“And does it entitle the pilgrim to wear the green
turban?” asked Eve, laughing.
“To wear any thing, Miss Effingham; green, blue,
or yellow, and to cause it to pass for elegance.”
“And which is the favourite colour with the family
you have mentioned?”
“It ought to be the first, in compliment to the name,
but, if truth must be said, I think they betray an affection
for all, with not a few of the half-tints in addition.”
“I am afraid they are too prononcées for us, by this
description. I am no great admirer, Grace, of walking
rainbows.”
“Too Green, you would have said, had you dared;
but you are a Hajji too, and even the Greens know
that a Hajji never puns, unless, indeed, it might be one
from Philadelphia. But you will visit these people?”
“Certainly, if they are in society and render it necessary
by their own civilities.”
“They are in society, in virtue of their rights as
Hajjis; but, as they passed three months at Paris, you
probably know something of them.”
“They may not have been there at the same time
with ourselves,” returned Eve, quietly, “and Paris is a
very large town. Hundreds of people come and go,
that one never hears of. I do not remember those you
have mentioned.”
“I wish you may escape them, for, in my untravelled
judgment, they are anything but agreeable, notwithstanding
all they have seen, or pretend to have
seen.”
“It is very possible to have been all over christendom,
and to remain exceedingly disagreeable; besides
one may see a great deal, and yet see very little of a
good quality.”
A pause of two or three minutes followed, during
which Eve read a note, and her cousin played with the
leaves of a book.
“I wish I knew your real opinion of us, Eve,” the
last suddenly exclaimed. “Why not be frank with so
near a relative; tell me honestly, now—are you reconciled
to your country?”
“You are the eleventh person who has asked me
have never quarrelled with my country.”
“Nay, I do not mean exactly that. I wish to hear
how our society has struck one who has been educated
abroad.”
“You wish, then, for opinions that can have no great
value, since my experience at home, extends only to a
fortnight. But you have many books on the country,
and some written by very clever persons; why not
consult them?”
“Oh! you mean the travellers. None of them are
worth a second thought, and we hold them, one and
all, in great contempt.”
“Of that I can have no manner of doubt, as one
and all, you are constantly protesting it, in the highways
and bye-ways. There is no more certain sign
of contempt, than to be incessantly dwelling on its
intensity!”
Grace had great quickness, as well as her cousin,
and though provoked at Eve's quiet hit, she had the
good sense and the good nature to laugh.
“Perhaps we do protest and disdain a little too strenuously
for good taste, if not to gain believers; but
surely, Eve, you do not support these travellers in all
that they have written of us?”
“Not in half, I can assure you. My father and cousin
Jack have discussed them too often in my presence
to leave me in ignorance of the very many political
blunders they have made in particular.”
“Political blunders!—I know nothing of them, and
had rather thought them right, in most of what they
said about our politics. But, surely, neither your father
nor Mr. John Effingham corroborates what they say
of our society!”
“I cannot answer for either, on that point.”
“Speak then for yourself. Do you think them right?”
“You should remember, Grace, that I have not yet
seen any society in New-York.”
“No society, dear!—Why you were at the Henderson's,
and the Morgan's, and the Drewett's; three of
the greatest réunions that we have had in two winters!”
“I did not know that you meant those unpleasant
crowds, by society.”
“Unpleasant crowds! Why, child, that is society,
is it not?”
“Not what I have been taught to consider such; I
rather think it would be better to call it company.”
“And is not this what is called society in Paris?”
“As far from it as possible; it may be an excrescence
of society; one of its forms; but, by no means,
society itself. It would be as true to call cards, which
are sometimes introduced in the world, society, as to
call a ball given in two small and crowded rooms,
society. They are merely two of the modes in which
idlers endeavour to vary their amusements.”
“But we have little else than these balls, the morning
visits, and an occasional evening, in which there is
no dancing.”
“I am sorry to hear it; for, in that case, you can
have no society.”
“And is it different at Paris—or Florence, or
Rome?”
“Very. In Paris there are many houses open every
evening to which one can go, with little ceremony.
Our sex appears in them, dressed according to what a
gentleman I overheard conversing at Mrs. Henderson's
would call their “ulterior intentions,” for the night;
some attired in the simplest manner, others dressed for
concerts, for the opera, for court even; some on the
way from a dinner, and others going to a late ball.
All this matter of course variety, adds to the ease and
grace of the company, and coupled with perfect good
manners, a certain knowledge of passing events, pretty
modes of expression, an accurate and even utterance,
the women usually find the means of making them
heroic, but this one must overlook, and it is a taste,
moreover, that is falling into disuse, as people read better
books.”
“And you prefer this heartlessness, Eve, to the
nature of your own country!”
“I do not know that quiet, retenue and a good tone,
are a whit more heartless than flirting, giggling and
childishness. There may be more nature in the latter,
certainly, but it is scarcely as agreeable, after one has
fairly got rid of the nursery.”
Grace looked vexed, but she loved her cousin too
sincerely to be angry. A secret suspicion that Eve
was right, too, came in aid of her affection, and while
her little foot moved, she maintained her good-nature,
a task not always attainable for those who believe that
their own “superlatives” scarcely reach to other people's
“positives.” At this critical moment, when there
was so much danger of a jar in the feelings of these
two young females, the library door opened and Pierre,
Mr. Effingham's own man, announced—
“Monsieur Bragg.”
“Monsieur who?” asked Eve, in surprise.
“Monsieur Bragg,” returned Pierre, in French,
“desires to see Mademoiselle.”
“You mean my father,—I know no such person.”
“He inquired first for Monsieur, but understanding
Monsieur was out, he next asked to have the honour
of seeing Mademoiselle.”
“Is it what they call a person in England, Pierre?”
Old Pierre smiled, as he answered—
“He has the air, Mademoiselle, though he esteems
himself a personnage, if I might take the liberty of
judging.”
“Ask him for his card,—there must be a mistake, I
think.”
While this short conversation took place, Grace Van
Cortlandt was sketching a cottage with a pen, without
received the card from Pierre and read aloud, with the
tone of surprise that the name would be apt to excite
in a novice in the art of American nomenclature, the
words “Aristabulus Bragg,” her cousin began to laugh.
“Who can this possibly be, Grace?—Did you ever
hear of such a person, and what right can he have to
wish to see me?”
“Admit him, by all means; it is your father's land
agent, and he may wish to leave some message for my
uncle. You will be obliged to make his acquaintance,
sooner or later, and it may as well be done now as at
another time.”
“You have shown this gentleman into the front drawing-room,
Pierre?”
“Oui, Mademoiselle.”
“I will ring when you are wanted.”
Pierre withdrew, and Eve opened her secretary, out
of which she took a small manuscript book, over the
leaves of which she passed her fingers rapidly.
“Here it is,” she said, smiling, “Mr. Aristabulus
Bragg, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, and the agent
of the Templeton estate.” This precious little work,
you must understand, Grace, contains sketches of the
characters of such persons as I shall be the most likely
to see, by John Effingham, A. M. It is a sealed volume,
of course, but there can be no harm in reading the part
that treats of our present visiter, and, with your permission,
we will have it in common.—`Mr. Aristabulus
Bragg was born in one of the western counties of Massachusetts,
and emigrated to New-York, after receiving
his education, at the mature age of nineteen; at
twenty-one he was admitted to the bar, and for the last
seven years he has been a successful practitioner in all
the courts of Otsego, from the justice's to the circuit.
His talents are undeniable, as he commenced his education
at fourteen and terminated it at twenty-one, the
law-course included. This man is an epitome of all
of his fellow citizens. He is quick-witted, prompt in
action, enterprising in all things in which he has nothing
to lose, but wary and cautious in all things in
which he has a real stake, and ready to turn not only
his hand, but his heart and his principles to any thing
that offers an advantage. With him, literally, “nothing
is too high to be aspired to, nothing too low to
be done.” He will run for Governor, or for town-clerk,
just as opportunities occur, is expert in all the
practices of his profession, has had a quarter's dancing,
with three years in the classics, and turned his
attention towards medicine and divinity, before he
finally settled down into the law. Such a compound
of shrewdness, impudence, common-sense, pretension,
humility, cleverness, vulgarity, kind-heartedness, duplicity,
selfishness, law-honesty, moral fraud and mother
wit, mixed up with a smattering of learning and much
penetration in practical things, can hardly be described,
as any one of his prominent qualities is certain to be
met by another quite as obvious that is almost its converse.
Mr. Bragg, in short, is purely a creature of
circumstances, his qualities pointing him out for either
a member of congress or a deputy sheriff, offices that
he is equally ready to fill. I have employed him to
watch over the estate of your father, in the absence
of the latter, on the principle that one practised in
tricks is the best qualified to detect and expose them,
and with the certainty that no man will trespass with
impunity, so long as the courts continue to tax bills of
costs with their present liberality.' You appear to
know the gentleman, Grace; is this character of him
faithful?”
“I know nothing of bills of costs and deputy sheriffs,
but I do know that Mr. Aristabulus Bragg is an
amusing mixture of strut, humility, roguery and cleverness.
He is waiting all this time in the drawing-room,
and you had better see him, as he may, now, be
has been living in the house at Templeton, ever since
he was installed by Mr. John Effingham. It was there
I had the honour first to meet him.”
“First! — Surely you have never seen him any
where else!”
“Your pardon, my dear. He never comes to town
without honouring me with a call. This is the price I
pay for having had the honour of being an inmate of
the same house with him for a week.”
Eve rang the bell, and Pierre made his appearance.
“Desire Mr. Bragg to walk into the library.”
Grace looked demure while Pierre was gone to usher
in their visiter, and Eve was thinking of the medley
of qualities John Effingham had assembled in his description,
as the door opened, and the subject of her
contemplation entered.
“Monsieur Aristabule,” said Pierre, eyeing the card,
but sticking at the first name.
Mr. Aristabulus Bragg was advancing with an easy
assurance to make his bow to the ladies, when the
more finished air and quiet dignity of Miss Effingham,
who was standing, so far disconcerted him, as completely
to upset his self-possession. As Grace had
expressed it, in consequence of having lived three
years in the old residence at Templeton, he had begun
to consider himself a part of the family, and at home
he never spoke of the young lady without calling her
“Eve,” or “Eve Effingham.” But he found it a very
different thing to affect familiarity among his associates,
and to practise it in the very face of its subject; and,
although seldom at a loss for words of some sort or
another, he was now actually dumb-founded. Eve
relieved his awkwardness by directing Pierre, with her
eye, to hand a chair, and first speaking.
“I regret that my father is not in,” she said, by way
of turning the visit from herself; “but he is to be expected
Aristabulus drew his breath, and recovered enough
of his ordinary tone of manner to reply with a decent
regard to his character for self-command. The intimacy
that he had intended to establish on the spot, was
temporarily defeated, it is true, and without his exactly
knowing how it had been effected; for it was merely
the steadiness of the young lady, blended as it was with
a polished reserve, that had thrown him to a distance
he could not explain. He felt immediately, and with
taste that did his sagacity credit, that his footing in
this quarter was only to be obtained by unusually slow
and cautious means. Still, Mr. Bragg was a man of
great decision, and, in his way, of very far-sighted
views; and, singular as it may seem, at that unpropitious
moment, he mentally determined that, at no very
distant day, he would make Miss Eve Effingham his
wife.
“I hope Mr. Effingham enjoys good health,” he said,
with some such caution as a rebuked school-girl enters
on the recitation of her task—“he enjoyed bad health
I hear, (Mr. Aristabulus Bragg, though so shrewd, was
far from critical in his modes of speech) when he went
to Europe, and after travelling so far in such bad company,
it would be no more than fair that he should
have a little respite as he approaches home and old
age.”
Had Eve been told that the man who uttered this
nice sentiment, and that too in accents as uncouth and
provincial as the thought was finished and lucid, actually
presumed to think of her as his bosom companion,
it is not easy to say which would have predominated
in her mind, mirth or resentment. But Mr. Bragg was
not in the habit of letting his secrets escape him prematurely,
and certainly this was one that none but a
wizard could have discovered without the aid of a direct
oral or written communication.
“Are you lately from Templeton?” repeated Eve,
a little surprised that the gentleman did not see fit to
answer the question, which was the only one that, as
it seemed to her, could have a common interest with
them both.
“I left home the day before yesterday,” Aristabulus
now deigned to reply.
“It is so long since I saw our beautiful mountains,
and I was then so young, that I feel a great impatience
to revisit them, though the pleasure must be deferred
until spring.”
“I conclude they are the handsomest mountains in
the known world, Miss Effingham!”
“That is much more than I shall venture to claim
for them; but, according to my imperfect recollection,
and, what I esteem of far more importance, according
to the united testimony of Mr. John Effingham and my
father, I think they must be very beautiful.”
Aristabulus looked up, as if he had a facetious thing
to say, and he even ventured on a smile, while he made
his answer.
“I hope Mr. John Effingham has prepared you for
a great change in the house?”
“We know that it has been repaired and altered
under his directions. That was done at my father's
request.”
“We consider it denationalized, Miss Effingham,
there being nothing like it, west of Albany at least.”
“I should be sorry to find that my cousin has subjected
us to this imputation,” said Eve smiling—perhaps
a little equivocally; “the architecture of America
being generally so simple and pure. Mr. Effingham
laughs at his own improvements, however, in which,
he says, he has only carried out the plans of the original
artiste, who worked very much in what was
called the composite order.”
“You allude to Mr. Hiram Doolittle, a gentleman I
never saw; though I hear he has left behind him many
Herculem, as we say, in the classics, Miss Effingham.
I believe it is the general sentiment that Mr. Doolittle's
designs have been improved on, though most people
think that the Grecian or Roman architecture, which
is so much in use in America, would be more republican.
But every body knows that Mr. John Effingham
is not much of a republican.”
Eve did not choose to discuss her kinsman's opinions
with Mr. Aristabulus Bragg, and she quietly remarked
that she “did not know that the imitations of the ancient
architecture, of which there are so many in the
country, were owing to attachment to republicanism.”
“To what else can it be owing, Miss Eve?”
“Sure enough,” said Grace Van Cortlandt; “it is
unsuited to the materials, the climate, and the uses;
and some very powerful motive, like that mentioned
by Mr. Bragg, could alone overcome these obstacles.”
Aristabulus started from his seat, and making sundry
apologies, declared his previous unconsciousness
that Miss Van Cortlandt was present; all of which
was true enough, as he had been so much occupied
mentally, with her cousin, as not to have observed her,
seated as she was partly behind a screen. Grace received
the excuses favourably, and the conversation
was resumed.
“I am sorry that my cousin should offend the taste
of the country,” said Eve, “but as we are to live in
the house, the punishment will fall heaviest on the
offenders.”
“Do not mistake me, Miss Eve,” returned Aristabulus,
in a little alarm, for he too well understood the
influence and wealth of John Effingham, not to wish
to be on good terms with him; “do not mistake me.
I admire the house, and know it to be a perfect specimen
of a pure architecture in its way, but then public
opinion is not yet quite up to it. I see all its beauties,
I would wish you to know, but then there are many,
think they ought to be consulted about such matters.”
“I believe Mr. John Effingham thinks less of his
own work than you seem to think of it yourself, sir,
for I have frequently heard him laugh at it, as a mere
enlargement of the merits of the composite order. He
calls it a caprice, rather than a taste: nor do I see
what concern a majority, as you term them, can have
with a house that does not belong to them.”
Aristabulus was surprised that any one could disregard
a majority; for, in this respect, he a good deal resembled
Mr. Dodge, though running a different career;
and the look of surprise he gave was natural and open.
“I do not mean that the public has a legal right to
control the tastes of the citizen,” he said, “but in a
republican government, you undoubtedly understand,
Miss Eve, it will rule in all things.”
“I can understand that one would wish to see his
neighbour use good taste, as it helps to embellish a
country; but the man who should consult the whole
neighbourhood before he built, would be very apt to
cause a complicated house to be erected, if he paid
much respect to the different opinions he received;
or, what is quite as likely, apt to have no house at
all.”
“I think you are mistaken, Miss Effingham, for the
public sentiment, just now, runs almost exclusively
and popularly into the Grecian school. We build
little besides temples for our churches, our banks, our
taverns, our court-houses, and our dwellings. A friend
of mine has just built a brewery on the model of the
Temple of the Winds.”
“Had it been a mill, one might understand the conceit,”
said Eve, who now began to perceive that her
visiter had some latent humour, though he produced it
in a manner to induce one to think him any thing but
a droll. “The mountains must be doubly beautiful, if
they are decorated in the way you mention. I sincerely
as they now exist in my recollection!”
“Should they not prove to be quite as lovely as you
imagine, Miss Effingham,” returned Aristabulus, who
saw no impropriety in answering a remark made to
Miss Van Cortlandt, or any one else, “I hope you
will have the kindness to conceal the fact from the
world.”
“I am afraid that would exceed my power, the disappointment
would be so strong. May I ask why you
show so much interest in my keeping so cruel a mortification
to myself?”
“Why, Miss Eve,” said Aristabulus, looking grave,
“I am afraid that our people would hardly bear the
expression of such an opinion from you.”
“From me!—and why not from me, in particular?”
“Perhaps it is because they think you have travelled,
and have seen other countries.”
“And is it only those who have not travelled, and
who have no means of knowing the value of what
they say, that are privileged to criticise?”
“I cannot exactly explain my own meaning, perhaps,
but I think Miss Grace will understand me. Do
you not agree with me, Miss Van Cortlandt, in thinking
it would be safer for one who never saw any
other mountains to complain of the tameness and
monotony of our own, than for one who had passed a
whole life among the Andes and the Alps?”
Eve smiled, for she saw that Mr. Bragg was capable
of detecting and laughing at provincial pride, even
while he was so much under its influence; and Grace
coloured, for she had the consciousness of having
already betrayed some of this very silly sensitiveness,
in her intercourse with her cousin, in connexion with
other subjects. A reply was unnecessary, however,
as the door just then opened, and John Effingham
made his appearance. The meeting between the two
gentlemen, for we suppose Aristabulus must be included
was more cordial than Eve had expected to witness,
for each really entertained a respect for the other, in
reference to a merit of a particular sort; Mr. Bragg
esteeming Mr. John Effingham as a wealthy and
caustic cynic, and Mr. John Effingham regarding Mr.
Bragg much as the owner of a dwelling regards a
valuable house-dog. After a few moments of conversation,
the two withdrew together, and just as the
ladies were about to descend to the drawing-room,
previously to dinner, Pierre announced that a plate
had been ordered for the land agent.
| CHAPTER I. Home as found | |