In spite of its wide spaces,
and its dignity, it was friendly. It caught his boy's heart.

Mrs. Lee was just entering. Custis' eyes danced at the sight of his
mother in full dress. He grasped Phil's arm and whispered:

"Isn't my mother the most beautiful woman you ever saw?"

He spoke the words half to himself. It was the instinctive worship of
the true Southern boy, breathed in genuine reverence, with an awe that
was the expression of a religion.

"I was just thinking the same thing, Custis," was the sober reply.

"I beg your pardon, Phil," he hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean to
brag about my mother to you. It just slipped out. I couldn't help it. I
was talking to myself."

"You needn't apologize. I know how you feel. She's already made me think
I'm one of you--"

He paused and watched Mary Lee enter from the lawn leaning on Stuart's
arm. Stuart's boyish banter was still ringing in her ears as she smiled
at him indulgently. She hurried to her mother with an easy, graceful
step and took her place beside her. She was fine, exquisite, bewitching.
She had never come out in Society. She had been born in it. She had her
sweethearts before thirteen and not one had left a shadow on her quiet,
beautiful face. She demanded, by her right of birth as a Southern girl,
years of devotion. And the Southern boy of the old regime was willing to
serve.

Phil stood with Stuart and watched Custis kiss a dozen pretty girls as
they arrived and call each one cousin.

"Is it a joke?" he asked Stuart curiously.

"What?"

"This cousin business."

"Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could help
him, do you?"

"Are they all kin?"

"Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and
third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from
every one--confound him!"

The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls
and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air.

Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from
sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech;
their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his
head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more
entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform he
was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended to
be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself abo