46 JUSTIN MORGAN 



CHAPTER VI. 



TRUE GAZES UPON MISTRESS LLOYD, OF MARYLAND. 



The following day, laughter and talk outside the stable 

 announced that several persons had come to visit the 

 horses. 



It chanced that among them was that brilliant quar- 

 tette of men, known as the "Hartford Wits," with Mas- 

 ter Trumbull at their head. 



The latter stood chatting with a mere slip of a girl, 

 dark-eyed and merry. In her hand she carried a fine, 

 thread-lace kerchief — like gossamer films at dawn — and 

 a pouf of gauze fell away from her snowy throat. She 

 wore a perriot of flowered taffeta trimmed with herri- 

 sons, and from beneath her petticoat two little slippered 

 feet peeped shyly. She was the most radiant being True 

 had ever seen. Enraptured, he followed her with his 

 eyes whichever way she turned. For all her beauty, she 

 was yet strong and fine in her promise of fuller woman- 

 hood. There was a quick certainty about her every move- 

 ment, and a steadiness of eye that showed no indetermi- 

 nate character. 



Near her stood a Coxcomb, filling the air with odors 

 of musk and powders, offensive to the nostrils of the little 

 horse who was led past him. A secret loathing for 

 this popinjay was born in his heart which he never out- 

 grew. 



"Ah, Mistress Lloyd," said the Coxcomb, drawling 

 his words disagreeably, and waving a scented lace- 

 bordered handkerchief, "what say you to Beautiful Bay? 



