quietly at the table, thinking. He appraised Theo's little amourette at its exact worth. Some momentary flirtation, already finished, and leaving her as innocent and unawakened as she had been before. He had been far too wise to force her confidence. To make much of the episode might have lit the spark of perversity that dwelt in every female breast—even hers. Besides, it was not necessary. The chapter was closed, he knew with sure instinct.
But there would be a next time, that was the trouble.
Some obnoxious booby would come along with sheep's eyes and a persuasive tongue to lure Theo into the scalding cauldron of passion. And no one knew better than Aaron that girls, unguided except by their passions, ever entangled themselves with the least desirable men.
He must at all costs protect her from that. He got up, paced back and forth on the carpet. He hadn't realized it, but she was ripe for mating. Already some of her contemporaries were married. Early and brilliant marriage was the crowning accomplishment for a woman.
True, there had been suitors buzzing around her of late, but they were all nonentities. He had not given them a serious thought. Theo must have a husband worthy of her, and worthy of marrying a Burr. And it must be a husband of his choosing, for did he not know, far better than she could know herself, what would be best for her? Had he not from her earliest infancy guided her thoughts, formed her character, and supervised nearly every hour of her blossoming life?
He turned with sudden resolution, went to a mahogany highboy, and, taking a small brass key from his pocket, unlocked a drawer. He took from it a large envelope marked 'A,' and carried it to his writing-table. There were a number of letters inside and a sheet of paper covered with his own small, precise writing.
The paper was headed 'Joseph Alston,' and continued through a complete record of memoranda. 'Born: Charleston, November 10th, 1779.—Attended Princeton for one year, 1795. No great scholar.—Three plantations and two estates. Probable net income in excess of forty thousand per annum.—Of an outwardly arrogant and overbearing disposition, but in reality very easily led.—Healthy and well set up. Not unduly addicted to strong drink or venery'. And so on, to the bottom of the crowded page.
Aaron read it all over again, very slowly, and his eyes were inscrutable.
CHAPTER FOUR
T HE guests began arriving at half-past three. The stamping of horses, the creaking of cabriolet wheels, the squeal of brakes on a heavy coach, all floated up through Theodosia's open window. She listened to the delightful bustle and fumed with impatience to be part of it.
She dearly loved the excitement of anticipation, the beginnings of things: parties, trips, or weightier projects. She was never quite to lose that breathless certainty of youth that
this
time something magical would happen, the decisive something for which she dimly longed.
Adonis, the fashionable coiffeur specially fetched from Pearl Street for the occasion, held his tongs near his sweating black cheek to test their heat, and his deliberateness exasperated Theo.
'Do hurry, Adonis,' she pleaded. 'People are arriving.'
The old negro threw a contemptuous glance toward the window. 'Jus' Republican canaille, mamselle—don' know better zan be early. What do zey know of etiquette?' He snorted, twisting and snipping expertly at Theo's hair. 'Parvenus! Like zat Josephine Beauharnais over in France now, pretending she be somebody. I see her many times in Martinique. Pfoui! Running after any planter who would look at her—no better zan a trollop.'
Theo giggled, and he rolled his intelligent, yellowish eyes. 'Je vous demande pardon, mamselle, but it is truth. Over zere zey kill ze king, zey kill everybody—and now zey let zis Corsican brigand lord it over zem wiz his—his doxy, cette Josephine!'
He flung down his comb, his hands shook, their pinkish palms wet.
'Zey even say zis Bonaparte will
But there would be a next time, that was the trouble.
Some obnoxious booby would come along with sheep's eyes and a persuasive tongue to lure Theo into the scalding cauldron of passion. And no one knew better than Aaron that girls, unguided except by their passions, ever entangled themselves with the least desirable men.
He must at all costs protect her from that. He got up, paced back and forth on the carpet. He hadn't realized it, but she was ripe for mating. Already some of her contemporaries were married. Early and brilliant marriage was the crowning accomplishment for a woman.
True, there had been suitors buzzing around her of late, but they were all nonentities. He had not given them a serious thought. Theo must have a husband worthy of her, and worthy of marrying a Burr. And it must be a husband of his choosing, for did he not know, far better than she could know herself, what would be best for her? Had he not from her earliest infancy guided her thoughts, formed her character, and supervised nearly every hour of her blossoming life?
He turned with sudden resolution, went to a mahogany highboy, and, taking a small brass key from his pocket, unlocked a drawer. He took from it a large envelope marked 'A,' and carried it to his writing-table. There were a number of letters inside and a sheet of paper covered with his own small, precise writing.
The paper was headed 'Joseph Alston,' and continued through a complete record of memoranda. 'Born: Charleston, November 10th, 1779.—Attended Princeton for one year, 1795. No great scholar.—Three plantations and two estates. Probable net income in excess of forty thousand per annum.—Of an outwardly arrogant and overbearing disposition, but in reality very easily led.—Healthy and well set up. Not unduly addicted to strong drink or venery'. And so on, to the bottom of the crowded page.
Aaron read it all over again, very slowly, and his eyes were inscrutable.
CHAPTER FOUR
T HE guests began arriving at half-past three. The stamping of horses, the creaking of cabriolet wheels, the squeal of brakes on a heavy coach, all floated up through Theodosia's open window. She listened to the delightful bustle and fumed with impatience to be part of it.
She dearly loved the excitement of anticipation, the beginnings of things: parties, trips, or weightier projects. She was never quite to lose that breathless certainty of youth that
this
time something magical would happen, the decisive something for which she dimly longed.
Adonis, the fashionable coiffeur specially fetched from Pearl Street for the occasion, held his tongs near his sweating black cheek to test their heat, and his deliberateness exasperated Theo.
'Do hurry, Adonis,' she pleaded. 'People are arriving.'
The old negro threw a contemptuous glance toward the window. 'Jus' Republican canaille, mamselle—don' know better zan be early. What do zey know of etiquette?' He snorted, twisting and snipping expertly at Theo's hair. 'Parvenus! Like zat Josephine Beauharnais over in France now, pretending she be somebody. I see her many times in Martinique. Pfoui! Running after any planter who would look at her—no better zan a trollop.'
Theo giggled, and he rolled his intelligent, yellowish eyes. 'Je vous demande pardon, mamselle, but it is truth. Over zere zey kill ze king, zey kill everybody—and now zey let zis Corsican brigand lord it over zem wiz his—his doxy, cette Josephine!'
He flung down his comb, his hands shook, their pinkish palms wet.
'Zey even say zis Bonaparte will
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