mansion, was commonly reckoned one of the finest in that
section. But no such comparative statement would have satisfied Mam'
Lyddy. She firmly believed that the Frenches were the greatest people in
the world, and it would have added nothing to her dignity had they been
princes, because it could have added nothing to it to be told that
she was a member of a royal house. Part mentor, part dependent, part
domestic, she knew her position, and within her province her place
was as unquestioned as was that of her mistress, and her advice was as
carefully considered.
Caesar, 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
f-
ace, 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-