Contents (27)
- LADY BALTIMORE
- By Owen Wister
- LADY BALTIMORE
- I: A Word about My Aunt
- II: I Vary My Lunch
- III: Kings Port Talks
- IV: THE GIRL BEHIND THE COUNTER—I
- V: The Boy of the Cake
- VI: In the Churchyard
- VII: The Girl Behind the Counter—II
- VIII: Midsummer-Night's Dream
- IX: Juno
- X: High Walk and the Ladies
- XI: Daddy Ben and His Seed
- XII: From the Bedside
- XIII: The Girl Behind the Counter—III
- XIV: The Replacers
- XV: What She Came to See
- XVI: The Steel Wasp
- XVII: Doing the Handsome Thing
- XVIII: Again the Replacers
- XIX: Udolpho
- XX: What She Wanted Him For
- XXI: Hortense's Cigarette Goes Out
- XXII: Behind the Times
- XXIII: Poor Aunt Carola!
- XXIV: Post Scriptum
There is almost nothing else to tell you of how the splashes broke on Kings Port. Before the day when I was obliged to call in Doctor Beaugarcon's professional services (quite a sharp attack put me to bed for half a week) I found merely the following things: the Hermana gone to New York, the automobiles and the Replacers had also disappeared, and people were divided on the not strikingly important question as to whether Hortense and the General had accompanied Charley on the yacht, or continued northward in an automobile, or taken the train. Gone, in any case, the whole party indubitably was, leaving, I must say, a sense of emptiness: the comedy was over, the players departed. I never heard any one, not even Juno, doubt that it was Hortense who had broken the engagement; this part of the affair was conducted by the principals with great skill. Hortense had evidently written her version to the Cornerlys, and not a word to any other effect ever came from John's mouth, of course. One result I had not looked for, though it was a natural one: if the old ladies had felt indignation at Hortense for her determination to marry John Mayrant, this indignation was doubled by her determination not to! I fear that few of us live by logic, even in Kings Port; and then, they had all called upon her in that garden for nothing! The sudden thought of this made me laugh alone in my bed of sickness; and when I came out of it, had such a thing been possible, I should have liked to congratulate Miss Josephine St. Michael on her absence from the garden occasion. I said, however, nothing to her, or to any of the other ladies, upon this or any subject, for I was so unlucky as to find them not at home when I paid my round of farewell visits. Nor (to my real distress) did I see John Mayrant again. The boy wrote me (I received it in bed) a short, warm note of regret, with nothing else in it save the fact that he was leaving town, having become free from the Custom House at last. I fancy that he ran away for a judicious interval. Who would not?
Was there one person to whom he told the truth before he went? Did the girl behind the counter hear the manner in which the engagement was broken? Ah, none of us will ever know that! But, although I could not, without the highest impropriety, have spoken to any of the old ladies about this business, unless they had chosen to speak to me—and somehow I feel that after the abrupt close of it not even Mrs. Gregory St. Michael would have been likely to touch on the subject with an outsider—there was nothing whatever to forbid my indulging in a skirmish with Eliza La Heu; therefore I lunched at the Exchange on my last day.
"To the mountains?" she said, in reply to my information about my plans of travel.