He never spoke of her again, or referred, in the most distant
manner, to his visit at Ridgeley. The omission was an agreeable one
to Rosa for several reasons. Silence, she believed, was to oblivion
as a means to an end. Judging from herself, she adopted the theory
that people were apt to forget what they never talked of themselves,
nor heard mentioned by others. Furthermore, she was relieved from
the necessity of concocting diplomatic evasions, dexterously
skirting the truth, to say nothing of plump falsehoods. These last
cost her conscience some unpleasant twinges. To avoid narrating in
full what had happened was a work of art. A downright lie was a
stroke of heavy business, unsuited to her airy genius--and when the
Aylett-Chilton complication was upon the tapis, it was difficult to
avoid undertaking such.
For three weeks, then, Mr. Frederic Chilton and the Virginian belle
visited concert, theatre, and assembly-room in company, sat side by
side in the spectators' gallery of House and Senate chamber, walked
in daylight along the broad avenues from one magnificent distance to
another, and on home-evenings--which were not many--chatted together
familiarly, the well-pleased Masons thought confidentially, by the
fireside in the family parlor. It must not be inferred from their
constant intercourse that he had the field entirely to himself.
Gallants of divers pretensions--first-class, mediocre, and
contemptible--considered with a practical eye to "settlement,"
hovered about the fascinating witch as moths about a gas-burner, and
had no citable cause of complaint of non-appreciation, inasmuch as
she shed equal light upon all, save one. "My very old friend, Mr.
Chilton," she was wont to denominate him in conversation with those
who inwardly called themselves fools for their jealousy of a man of
whom she spoke thus frankly, with never a stammer or blush; yet they
acknowledged to themselves all the while that they were both
suspicious and envious of his superior advantages. However backward
Frederic may have been in the beginning to monopolize the notice and
time of his "sisterly friend," he was not an insensate block, who
could not perceive and value the compliment paid him by her
partiality--ever apparent, but never unmaidenly. Impute it to
whatever motive he might, the distinction titillated his vanity,
touched, at least, the outermost covering of his heart. It might be
pity, it might be pleasant, mournful memories of other days--it was
most likely of all a sincere platonic affection, for one with tastes
and feelings akin to hers that gave lustre to her eyes, and gentle
meaning to her smile when he drew near. At any rate, it would be
churlish not to accept the preference these conveyed, and to like
her and his position as her chosen knight better every day; it was
inevitable that he should marvel--not without melancholy-at the
flight of time that brought so soon the day of parting.