Mr. Drew's going to the Court House to vote. Uncle Edward says it is the
duty of every gentleman to vote against this damned upstart and the
Democrat-Republican party. The damned upstart's other name is Lewis
Rand. I'll ask Jacqueline to beg Mammy Chloe not to whip you. I like wet
feet."

The parlour at Fontenoy was large and high and cool, hung with green
paper, touched with the dull gold of old mirrors, of a carved console or
two, of oval frames enclosing dim portraits. Long windows opened to the
April breeze, and from above the high mantel a Churchill in lovelocks
and plumed hat looked down upon Jacqueline seated at her harp. She was
playing Water parted from the Sea, playing it dreamily, with an absent
mind. Deb, hearing the music from the hall, came and stood beside her
sister. They were orphans, dwelling with an uncle.

"Jacqueline," said the child, "do you believe in the Devil?"

Jacqueline played on, but turned a lovely face upon her sister. "I don't
know, honey," she said. "I suppose we must, but I had rather not."

"Uncle Edward doesn't. He says 'What the Devil!' but he doesn't believe
in the Devil. Then why do he and Uncle Dick call Mr. Lewis Rand the
Devil?"

Jacqueline's hands left the strings. "They neither say nor mean that,
Deb. Uncle Dick and Uncle Edward are Federalists. They do not like
Republicans, nor Mr. Jefferson, nor Mr. Jefferson's friends. Mr. Lewis
Rand is Mr. Jefferson's friend, and he is his party's candidate for the
General Assembly, and so they do not like him. But they do not call him
such names as that."