eft her heart there; for one day
there came riding up to Riverview Mr. Willoughby Newton, whose estate was
near Mount Pleasant, and the way that Dorothy blushed when she welcomed
him aroused my ire at once. Now Mr. Willoughby Newton was a very handsome
and proper gentleman, and on his broad acres grew some of the sweetest
tobacco that ever left Virginia; but I could scarce treat him civilly,
which only shows what an insufferable puppy I still was, and I made
myself most miserable. His learning was more of the court and camp than
of the bookshelf,--a defect which I soon discovered,--and I loved to set
him tripping over some quibble of words, a proceeding which amused me
vastly, though my mirth was shared by none of the others who witnessed
it. In fact, Madame Stewart was partial to the man from the first, in
which I do not blame her, for a better match could not have been desired
for her daughter. She made him see his welcome, and he doubtless thought
the road to Dorothy's heart a fair and easy one. I certainly thought so,
and I spent my days in moping about the place, cutting a most melancholy
and unattractive figure.

I can look back now with a smile upon those days, realizing what a
ridiculous sight I must have been, but at the time, their tragedy was for
me a very real and living one. Newton had passed some years in London,
and had picked up there the graces of the court, as well as much of its
frippery gossip, which latter he was fond of retailing, to my great
disgust, but to the vast entertainment of the ladies, who found no fault
with it, though it was four or five years old. He could tell a story well
and turn a joke to a nicety,--a fact which I was at that time far from
admitting,--and under other circumstances I should have found him a witty
and amusing friend. I think he soon saw what my feelings were,--indeed,
even a more obtuse man would have had no difficulty in understanding
them,--and he treated me with a good-humored condescension which
irritated me beyond measure. And yet, unquestionably, it was the only
treatment my behavior merited.

The climax came one evening after dinner. We had both, perhaps, had a
glass of wine too much before we joined the ladies. Certainly, no words
had passed between us when they had left the table, and there was nothing
to do but drink, which we did with moody perseverance. But once before
the fire in the great hall, with Madame Stewart knitting on one side and
Dorothy bendi