ar, her husband, a tall, ebony lath, with a bald head and meek eyes,
had come out of another family and was treated with condescension. No
one knew how often he was reminded of his lower estate; but it was often
enough, for he was always in a somewhat humble and apologetic attitude.

The Frenches were known as a "likely" family, but Betty, with her oval
face, soft eyes, and skin like a magnolia flower, was so undeniably the
beauty that she was called "Pretty Betty." She was equally undeniably
the belle. And while the old woman, who idolized her, found far more
pleasure than even her mother in her belleship, she was as watchful over
her as Argus. Every young man of the many who haunted the old French
mansion among its oaks and maples had to meet the scrutiny of those
sharp, tack-like eyes. The least slip that one made was enough to prove
his downfall. The old woman sifted them as surely as she sifted her
meal, and branded them with an infallible instinct akin to that of a
keen watchdog. Many a young man who passed that silent figure without a
greeting, or spoke lightly of some one, unheeding her presence, wondered
at his want of success and felt without knowing why that he was pulling
against an unseen current.

"We must drop him--he ain't a gent'man," she said of one. Of another:
"Oh! Oh! honey, he won't do. He ain't our kind." Or, "Betty, let him go,
my Lamb. De Frenches don't pick up dat kine o' stick."

Happily for Cabell Graeme, he had the old woman's approval. In the first
place, he was related to the Frenches, and this in her eyes was a
patent of gentility. Then, he had always been kind to little Betty and
particularly civil to herself. He not only never omitted to ask after
her health, but also inquired as to her pet ailments of "misery in her
foot" and "whirlin' in her head," with an interest which flattered her
deeply. But it went further back than that Once, when Betty was a little
girl, Cabell, then a well-grown boy of twelve, had found her and her
mammy on the wrong side of a muddy road, and wading through, he had
carried Betty across, and then wading back, had offered to carry Mam'
Lyddy over, too.

"Go way f'om heah, boy, you can't carry me."

"Yes, I can, Mam' Lyddy. You don't know how strong I am." He squared
himself for the feat.

She laughed at him, and with a flash in his gray eyes he suddenly
grabbed her.

"I 'll show you."

There was quite a scuffle. She was too heavy for him, but he won he