Solution Manual for MKTG 8 8th

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9781285432625

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CHAPTER 2 Strategic Planning for Competitive Advantage

This chapter begins with the learning outcome summaries, followed by a set of lesson plans for you to use to
deliver the content in Chapter 2.
Lecture (for large sections) on page 4
Company Clips (video) on page 6
Group Work (for smaller sections) on page 8
Review and Assignments begin on page 9
Review questions
Application questions
Application exercise
Ethics exercise
Video assignment
Case assignment
Great Ideas for Teaching Marketing from faculty around the country begin on page 20

Chapter 2 ♦ Strategic Planning for Competitive Advantage

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1
LEARNING OUTCOMES

2-1 Understand the importance of strategic planning

Strategic planning is the basis for all marketing strategies and decisions. These decisions affect the allocation of
resources and ultimately the financial success of the company.

2-2 Define strategic business units (SBUs)

Each SBU should have these characteristics: a distinct mission and a specific target market; control over
resources; its own competitors; a single business; plans independent from other SBUs in the organization. Each SBU
has its own rate of return on investment, growth potential, and associated risks, and requires its own strategies and
funding.

2-3 Identify strategic alternatives and know a basic outline for a marketing plan
Ansoff’s opportunity matrix presents four options to help management develop strategic alternatives: market
penetration, market development, product development, and diversification. In selecting a strategic alternative,
managers may use a portfolio matrix, which classifies strategic business units as stars, cash cows, problem children
(or question marks), and dogs, depending on their present or projected growth and market share. Alternatively, the
GE model suggests that companies determine strategic alternatives based on the comparisons between business
position and market attractiveness. A marketing plan should define the business mission, perform a situation
analysis, define objectives, delineate a target market, and establish components of the marketing mix. Other elements
that may be included in a plan are budgets, implementation timetables, required marketing research efforts, or
elements of advanced strategic planning.

2-4 Develop an appropriate business mission statement

The firm’s mission statement establishes boundaries for all subsequent decisions, objectives, and strategies. A
mission statement should focus on the market(s) the organization is attempting to serve rather than on the good or
service offered.

2-5 Describe the components of a situation analysis

In the situation (or SWOT) analysis, the firm should identify its internal strengths (S) and weaknesses (W) and also
examine external opportunities (O) and threats (T). When examining external opportunities and threats, marketing
managers must analyze aspects of the marketing environment in a process called environmental scanning. The six
macroenvironmental forces studied most often are social, demographic, economic, technological, political and legal, and
competitive.

2-6 Identify sources of competitive advantage

There are three types of competitive advantage: cost, product/service differentiation, and niche. Sources of cost
competitive advantage include experience curves, efficient labor, no frills goods and services, government subsidies,
product design, reengineering, production innovations, and new methods of service delivery. A product/service
differentiation competitive advantage exists when a firm provides something unique that is valuable to buyers beyond just
low price. Niche competitive advantages come from targeting unique segments with specific needs and wants. The goal
of all these sources of competitive advantage is to be sustainable.

2-7 Explain the criteria for stating good marketing objectives

Objectives should be realistic, measurable, time specific, and compared to a benchmark. They must also be consistent and
indicate the priorities of the organization. Good marketing objectives communicate marketing management philosophies,
provide management direction, motivate employees, force executives to think clearly, and form a basis for control.

2-8 Discuss target market strategies

Chapter 2 ♦ Strategic Planning for Competitive Advantage

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2
Targeting markets begins with a market opportunity analysis, or MOA, which describes and estimates the size and
sales potential of market segments that are of interest to the firm. In addition, an assessment of key competitors in

Chapter 2 ♦ Strategic Planning for Competitive Advantage

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3
these market segments is performed. After the market segments are described, one or more may be targeted by the
firm.

2-9 Describe the elements of the marketing mix

The marketing mix is a blend of product, place, promotion, and pricing strategies (the four Ps) designed to produce
mutually satisfying exchanges with a target market. The starting point of the marketing mix is the product offering—
tangible goods, ideas, or services. Place (distribution) strategies are concerned with making products available when
and where customers want them. Promotion includes advertising, public relations, sales promotion, and personal
selling. Price is what a buyer must give up in order to obtain a product and is often the most flexible of the four
marketing mix elements.

2-10 Explain why implementation, evaluation, and control of the marketing plan are
necessary
Before a marketing plan can work, it must be implemented—that is, people must perform the actions in the plan. The plan
should also be evaluated to see if it has achieved its objectives. Poor implementation can be a major factor in a plan’s
failure, but working to gain acceptance can be accomplished with task forces. Once implemented, one major aspect of
control is the marketing audit, and ultimately continuing to apply what the audit uncovered through postaudit tasks.

2-11 Identify several techniques that help make strategic planning effective
First, management must realize that strategic planning is an ongoing process and not a once-a-year exercise. Second,
good strategic planning involves a high level of creativity. The last requirement is top management’s support and
participation.

TERMS
cash cow market development niche competitive advantage
competitive advantage market opportunity analysis (MOA) planning
control market penetration portfolio matrix
cost competitive advantage marketing audit problem child (question mark)
diversification marketing mix product development
dog marketing myopia product/service differentiation
environmental scanning marketing objective competitive advantage

evaluation marketing plan star

experience curves marketing planning strategic business unit (SBU)
four Ps marketing strategy strategic planning
implementation mission statement sustainable competitive advantage
SWOT analysis

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Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
 “You and Rosemary go home with us, Miss Susannah. There’s
plenty of room inside the carriage for six people, and we would
only be five. Do, now! And let us have this matter of going to
school settled at once,” urged Wynnette.
Miss Grandiere hesitated, even though Elva joined in the
invitation. But when Odalite, the eldest and grown-up sister,
added her entreaties to those of the others, Miss Sukey yielded,
because she wanted to yield.
The girls then took leave of all their friends at Grove Hill and
entered the capacious carriage, accompanied by Miss Grandiere
and Rosemary—that is, two of them did. One was missing.
“Where is Wynnette?” inquired Miss Grandiere, as she sank into
the cushions.
“She is on the box, driving, while Jacob is sitting with folded
arms beside her,” answered Odalite.
“It is highly improper.”
“You cannot do anything with Wynnette, Miss Susannah. She
will drive as often as she can. And Jacob’s presence beside her
makes it safe, at least. He is ready to seize the reins at any
emergency.”
“Yes, but really—really—my dear Odalite——”
The sudden starting of the horses at a spanking pace jerked
Miss Grandiere’s words from her lips, and herself forward into
little Elva’s arms.
However, they arrived safely at Mondreer, where they were very
cordially welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Force.
When Miss Grandiere proposed her plan of sending Rosemary
with them, to go to school with their own children, the lady and
gentleman responded promptly and cordially.
“We have not selected our school yet,” Mr. Force explained. “We
wish to get the circulars and personally inspect the schools before
we make our choice, but if you leave your niece in our hands, we
shall do by her exactly as by our own.”
“I am sure you will. And I thank you from my soul for the
trouble you take. I shall sign some blank checks, for you to fill out,
for any funds that may be required for Rosemary,” gratefully
responded Miss Grandiere.
The aunt and niece, at the cordial invitation of the Forces,
stayed to dinner, and were afterward sent home in a wide buggy
driven by Jacob.
One day later Miss Grandiere broached to Mrs. Hedge the
subject of sending Rosemary to school with Wynnette and Elva
Force, at her own—Miss Grandiere’s—expense.
This consultation with the mother was a mere form, Miss
Susannah knowing full well that it was the great ambition of
Mistress Dolly’s heart to send her daughter to a good boarding
school, and that she would consider the present opportunity most
providential.
All the arrangements were most satisfactorily concluded, and by
the end of the following week, the Forces, with little Rosemary in
their charge, had left Mondreer.
 CHAPTER IV
AFTER A LAPSE OF TIME

It was three years after the Forces left Mondreer, and they had
never returned to it.
The farm was managed by Jesse Barnes, the capable overseer,
and the sales were arranged by Mr. Copp, the family agent, who
remitted the revenues of the estate in quarterly installments to Mr.
Force.
The lady from the gold mines remained in the house, taking
such excellent care of the rooms and the furniture that she had
gradually settled down as a permanent inmate, in the character of
a salaried housekeeper.
“I’m a-getting too old to be bouncing round prospecting with
the boys, and so I reckon I had better sit down in this comfortable
sitiwation for the rest of my life,” she confided to Miss Bayard, one
February morning, when that descendant of the great duke
honored her by coming to spend the day at Mondreer.
“That’s just what I sez myself. When you knows you’re well
enough off, sez I, you’d better let well enough alone, sez I. And not
take after them unsettled people as are allus changing about from
place to place, doing no good,” assented Miss Bayard.
“It’s a habit dey gibs deirselves. ’Deed it is, ole mist’ess. Nuffin’
’t all but a habit dey gibs deirselves,” remarked Luce, who had just
come in with a waiter, on which was a plate of caraway-seed cake
and a decanter of blackberry cordial to refresh the visitor.
“Just like my neffy, Roland. He was restless enough after Le
went to sea, but after the Forces left the neighborhood and took
Rosemary Hedge with ’em, ropes nor chains wouldn’t hold that
feller, but he must go off to Baltimore to get a berth, as he called it.
Thanks be to goodness, he got in ’long of Capt. Grandiere as first
mate; but Lord knows when I’ll ever see him ag’in, for he is gone
to the East Indies,” sighed Miss Sibby. And then she stopped to
nibble her seed cake and sip her blackberry cordial.
“It’s a habit he gibs hisself, ole mist’ess. ’Deed it is. Nuffin’ ’t all
but a habit he gibs hisself, and you ought to try to break him of it,”
said Luce, as she set the waiter down on the table and left the
room.
“Do you expect Abel Force ever to come home to his own house
again?” inquired Miss Sibby, between her sips and nibbles.
“Oh, yes, I reckon so, when the gals have finished their
edication, but not till then. You see they have a lovely house in
Washington, according to what Miss Grandiere and little
Rosemary Hedge tells us, and the children are at a fine school, so
they live there all the year until the three months summer vacation
comes round, and then when Miss Grandiere goes to Washington
to fetch her little niece home to spend the holidays here, why, then
Mr. and Mrs. Force takes their three daughters and go traveling.
And this next summer they do talk about going to Europe, but I
don’t know that they will do it.”
“What I sez is that they ought to spend their summers at
Mondreer. When a family is blessed with the blessing of a good,
healthy country home, sez I, they ought to stay in it, and be
thankful for it, sez I.”
Even while the two cronies spoke the door opened, and Jacob
came in, with a letter in his hand.
“There! That’s from the ole ’oman now. I know her handwriting
across the room. And now we shall hear some news,” said Mrs.
Anglesea, with her mouth full of cake.
And she took the letter from the negro’s hands, and opened it
without ceremony, and began to read it to herself, without
apology.
“Is it anything confidential?” demanded Miss Sibby, who was
full of curiosity.
“No. I will read it all to you as soon as ever I have spelled it out
myself. I never was good at reading writing, particularly fine hand,
and, if I must say it, the ole ’oman do write the scrimble-
scramblest fine hand as ever I see,” said Mrs. Anglesea, peering at
the letter, and turning it this way and that, and almost upside
down.
Presently she began to read, making comments between the
words and phrases of the letter.
 “Well, it’s ‘Washington City, P Street, N. W., and February 8th.’
Why, it’s been four days coming. Here you, Jake! When did you
get this letter out’n the post office?” She paused to call the negro
messenger, who stood, hat in hand, at the door.
“W’y, dis mornin’, in course, ole mist’ess,” replied the man.
“Don’t ‘ole mist’ess’ me, you scalawag! Are you sartain you
didn’t get it Saturday, and forget all about it, and leave it in your
pocket until to-day?”
“Hi, ole—young—mist’ess, how I gwine to forget w’en you
always ax me? No, ’deed. I took it out’n de pos’ office dis blessed
mornin’, ole—young mist’ess.”
“How dare you call me young mist’ess, you——”
“What mus’ I call you, den?” inquired the puzzled negro.
“Ma’am. Call me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better. Well, now the next time you go to the village,
Jake, you just tell that postmaster if he keeps back another letter
of mine four days, I’ll have him turned out. Do ye hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, now you may go about your business, and I will go on
with my letter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The man left the room, and the housekeeper resumed her
reading:
“‘M D M .A ’: I wish she wouldn’t pile that name upon me so! If she
knowed how I hated it she wouldn’t. ‘I write to ask you to have the house prepared for
our reception on the eighth of June. You will know what is necessary to be done, and you
may draw on Mr. Copp for the needful funds. He has instructions to honor your drafts.
“‘The girls expect to grad—grat—gral—gual——’
“Lord ’a’ mercy! what is this word? Can you make it out, Miss
Sibby?” inquired the reader, holding the letter under the nose of
the visitor.
Miss Bayard, who had resumed her knitting after moderately
partaking of cake and cordial, dropped her work, adjusted her
spectacles and inspected the word.
“It’s graduate, ma’am. That means finish their edication,
honorable. Young Le Force graduated offen the Naval ’Cademy
before he ever went to sea as a midshipman, and my scamp,
Roland Bayard, graduated offen the Charlotte Hall ’Cademy before
he ran away and went to sea as a common sailor. I s’pose these
girls is a-going to graduate offen the ‘cademy where they are
getting their edication, and I hope they will do theirselves credit.
When your parents do the best they can for you, sez I, you ought to
try to do the best you can for yourself, sez I, which is the best
return you can make them, sez I.”
“To do the best you can for them, I should think would be the
first thing to think about, and, likewise, best return to make them.
But now I’ll go on with my letter:
“‘The girls expect to graduate at the academic commencement, on the first of June’—
graduate at the commencement! I thought pupils graduated at the end!—‘after which we
expect to come down to Mondreer for the summer, previous to going to Europe. I have
much news of importance to tell you, which concerns yourself as much as it affects us;
but it is of such a nature that it had best be reserved for the present. Expecting to see
you, I remain your friend,

E F .’”

“So they are actually coming home at last,” said Miss Sibby.
“Yes, actially coming home at last,” assented the housekeeper.
“But, look here. What does she mean by that news as she has got
to tell me which concerns she and I both? I reckon it must be news
of my rascal. Lord! I wonder if it is? I wonder if he’s been hung or
anything? I hope to gracious he has! And then she wouldn’t
mention it in a letter, but wait until she could tell me all about it!
It must be that, ole ’oman—my rascal’s hung!”
“I reckon it is! When a man lives a bad life, sez I, he must expect
to die a bad death, sez I.”
“Well, I shan’t go in mourning for him, that’s certain, whether
he’s hung or drowned. But we shall hear all about it when the folks
come home. Lord! why, the place will be like another house, with
all them young gals in it!”
“I might ’a’ knowed somethin’ was up t’other Sunday, when I
heard Miss Grandiere tell Parson Peters, at All Faith Church, how
she and Mrs. Hedge were both going to Washington on the first of
June. Of course, it is to the commencement they’re going, to see
Rosemary graduate along with the others.”
“But to hear ’em call the end of a thing its commencement, takes
me,” said Mrs. Anglesea.
“So it do me. And if people don’t know what they’re a-talking
about, sez I, they’d better hold their tongues, sez I.”
 “Young Mrs. Ingle will be mighty proud to have the old folks
and the gals back. Lord! how fond she was of them two little gals.
To think of her naming her two babies after them—the first
Wynnette and the second Elva. Let’s see; the first one must be two
years old.”
“Wynnie is twenty-three months old, and Ellie is nine months;
but they are both sich smart, lively, sensible children that any one
might think as they was older than that. But I don’t hold with
children being took so much notice of, and stimmerlated in their
intellects so much. Fair an’ easy, sez I; slow and sure, sez I, goes a
long way, sez I.”
So, talking about their neighbors, as usual, but not uncharitably,
the gossips passed the day. At sunset they had tea together; and
then Gad brought around the mule cart—the only equipage owned
by the descendant of the great duke—who put on her bonnet and
shawl, bid good-by to her crony, got into her seat and drove
homeward.
“Well, the ole ’oman has give me long enough notice to get ready
for ’em; but she knows there’s a good deal to be done, and country
workmen is slow, let alone the niggers, who is slowest of all,”
ruminated Mrs. Anglesea, who resolved to begin operations next
day.
 CHAPTER V
THE FORTUNES OF ODALITE

To explain the mysterious letter written by Elfrida Force to her

housekeeper, we must condense the family history of the last three
years, which had passed without any incident worth recording,
and bring it up to the time when events full of importance for good
or evil followed each other in rapid succession.
Mr. Force, on removing his family to Washington, in the month
of February three years before, took apartments in one of the best
hotels for himself, his wife, and their eldest daughter, while he
placed his two younger daughters and his little ward at a first-class
boarding school.
The Forces had some friends and acquaintances in the city, and
to these they sent cards, which were promptly honored by calls.
For the sake of Odalite, Mrs. Force chose to enter the gay society
for which she herself had little heart.
The trousseau prepared for the girl’s luckless, broken marriage
came well into use as an elegant outfit for the fashionable season
in the gay capital.
Mr. Force escorted his wife and daughter to all the receptions,
concerts, balls and dinners to which they were invited, and
everywhere he felt pride and pleasure in the general admiration
bestowed upon his beautiful wife and their lovely daughter.
But the instinct of caste was strong in the breast of Elfrida
Force. She and her daughter were recipients of many elegant
entertainments, and she wished to reciprocate, but could not do so
while living at a hotel.
His wife’s wishes, joined to his own longing for the freedom of
domestic life, added zeal to Abel Force’s quest of a house.
But it was at the end of the session of Congress before his desire
was gratified. Then a United States senator, whose term of office
had expired, offered his handsome and elegantly furnished house
for rent.
Mr. and Mrs. Force inspected the premises, and leased them for
three years.
They did not wish to go in at once, as the season was at an end,
and the summer at hand.
But as soon as the retiring statesman and his family had vacated
the house Mr. Force sent in a squad of housecleaners to prepare
the place for the new tenants.
When the schools closed for the long summer vacation he gave
little Rosemary Hedge into the hands of Miss Grandiere, who had
come to Washington to fetch her home, and with his wife and
three daughters left the city for an extensive summer tour.
After three months of varied travel the family returned to
Washington in September, and took possession of the beautiful
town house, near the P Street circle, in the northwest section of
the city.
Then they replaced their daughters and their little ward at the
same school—not as boarders, however, but as day pupils, for Mr.
and Mrs. Force wished to have their girls as much as possible
under their own care, believing home education to be the most
influential for good—or for evil—of all possible training.
When Congress met, and the season began, Mrs. Force took the
lead by giving a magnificent ball, to which all the beauty, fashion,
wealth and celebrity of the national capital were invited, to which
they nearly all came.
The ball was a splendid success.
The beautiful Elfrida Force became an acknowledged queen of
society, and her lovely young daughter was the belle of the season.
Had no one in the city then heard of her disastrous wedding
broken up at the altar?
Not a soul had heard of it. Not one of those friends and
acquaintances of Mrs. Force whom she had met in Washington,
for, be it remembered, she had written to no one of her daughter’s
approaching marriage, and had bid to the wedding only the
nearest neighbors and oldest friends of her family.
Odalite was saved this unmerited humiliation, at least—though
many who admired the beautiful girl wondered that the lovely,
dark eyes never sparkled, the sweet lips never smiled.
 In this season she had several “eligible” offers of marriage—one
from a young officer in the army; another from a middle-aged
banker; another from an aged cabinet minister; a fourth from a
foreign secretary of legation; a fifth from a distinguished lawyer; a
sixth from a brilliant congressman; a seventh from a fashionable
preacher; and so on and so on.
All these were declined with courtesy.
Odalite took very little pleasure in the gay life of Washington,
and very little pride in her conquests.
Her sole delight was in Le’s letters, which came to her under
cover to her mother; but were read and enjoyed by the whole
family.
Le certainly was a faithful servant of the great republic, and
never neglected his duty; but yet his “most chiefest occupation”
must have been writing to Odalite, for his letters came by every
possible opportunity, and they were not only letters, but huge
parcels of manuscript, containing the journal of his thoughts,
feelings, hopes and purposes from day to day. And all these might
have been summed in one word—“Odalite.”
She also sent letters as bulky and as frequently; and all that she
wrote might have been condensed into a monosyllable—“Le.”
These parcels were always directed in the hand of her mother.
Ah! mother and daughter ever felt that the eyes of an implacable
enemy were secretly watching them, so that they must be on their
guard against surprise and treachery.
They suffered this fear, although they never heard one word
from, or of, Angus Anglesea. He might be dead, living, or
imprisoned, for aught they knew of his state, condition, or
whereabouts.
In the distractions of society, however, they forgot their secret
fears, for indeed they had no time for reflection. This was one of
the gayest seasons ever known in the gay capital; reception, ball
and concert followed ball, concert and reception in a dizzy round;
and the Forces were seen at all! If they had purposely intended to
make up for all the long years of seclusion at Mondreer they
certainly and completely succeeded.
At the end of the season they took a rest; but they did not leave
Washington until June, when the schools closed, and then they
placed little Rosemary Hedge in the hands of Miss Grandiere, who
came to the city to receive her, and they went to Canada for the
summer.
As this first year passed, so passed the second and nearly the
whole of the third.
It was in September of the third year that the monotony of
winter society and summer travel was broken by something of
vital interest to all their lives.
They had just returned to Washington; replaced their youngest
daughters and their ward at school, and settled themselves, with
their eldest daughter, in their town house, which had been
renovated during their absence.
It was a season of repose coming between the summer travel
and the winter’s dissipations. They were receiving no calls, making
no visits, but just resting.
One morning the father, mother and daughter were seated in
the back piazza which faced the west, and was therefore, on this
warm morning in September, cool and shady. The piazza looked
down upon a little back yard, such as city lots can afford. But every
inch of the ground had been utilized, for a walk covered with an
arbor of latticework and grapevines led down to a back gate and to
the stables in the rear. On the right hand of this walk was a green
plot, with a pear tree and a plum tree growing in the midst, and a
border of gorgeous autumn flowers blooming all around. On the
other side of the walk was another plot with a peach tree and an
apple tree growing in the midst, and a border of roses all around.
And the grapevine and the fruit trees were all in full fruition now,
and supplied the dessert every day.
Mr., Mrs. and Miss Force were all seated in the pleasant Quaker
rocking-chairs with which this back piazza was furnished.
Mr. Force had the morning paper in his hands and he was
reading aloud to the two ladies, who were both engaged in crochet
work, when the back door opened and a manservant came out and
handed an enveloped newspaper to his master, saying:
“The postmaster has just left it, sir.”
“And nothing else?” inquired the gentleman.
“Nothing else, sir—only that.”
“Only a newspaper,” said Mr. Force, laying it down carelessly,
without examination, as he resumed the Union and the article he
had been engaged in reading.
 No one felt the slightest interest in the paper that lay neglected
on the little stand beside Mr. Force’s chair. Many newspapers
came by mail, and but few of them were opened. Mr. Force went
on with his reading, and Mrs. and Miss Force with their
embroidery. And the neglected newspaper, with its tremendous
news, lay there unnoticed and forgotten with the prospect of being
thrown, unopened, into the dust barrel; which must certainly have
been its fate, had not Odalite chanced to cast her eye upon it and
to observe something unfamiliar in its style and character. In idle
curiosity she took it up, looked at it, and gave a cry.
 CHAPTER VI
NEWS FROM COL. ANGLESEA

“What is it, my dear?” inquired her father, as Odalite, with

trembling fingers, tore off the envelope and opened the paper.
“It—it is—it is postmarked Angleton,” she faltered.
“Angleton! Give it to me!” peremptorily exclaimed Abel Force,
reaching his hand and taking the sheet from his daughter, who
yielded it up and then covered her eyes with her hands, while her
father examined the paper and her mother looked on with
breathless interest.
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Abel Force, as his eyes were riveted
on a paragraph he had found there.
“What—what is it?” demanded Elfrida Force, in extreme
anxiety, while Odalite uncovered her eyes, and gazed with eager
look and lips apart.
“A scoundrel has gone to his account! The earth is rid of an
incubus! Listen! This is the Angleton Advertiser of August 20th,
and it contains a notice of the death of Angus Anglesea.”
“Anglesea—dead!” exclaimed mother and daughter, in a breath,
and in tones that expressed almost every other emotion under the
sun, except sorrow.
“Yes, dead and gone to—his desserts!” exclaimed Abel Force,
triumphantly; but catching himself up short, before he ended in a
word that must never be mentioned, under any circumstances.
“Here is a notice of his death.”
“Read it,” said Mrs. Force, while Odalite looked the eager
interest, which she did not express in words.
Abel Force read this paragraph at the head of the death list:
“D .—On Monday, August 10th, at Anglewood Manor, in the forty-fourth year of his
age, after a long and painful illness, which he bore with heroic patience and fortitude,
Col. the Hon. Angus Anglesea.”
 “Dead!” muttered Elfrida Force, thoughtfully.
“Dead!” echoed Odalite, gravely.
“Yes! dead and—doomed!” exclaimed Abel Force, catching
himself up before he had used an inadmissible word.
“Then, thank Heaven, I am free! Oh! I hope it was no sin to say
that!” exclaimed Odalite.
Her father stared at her for a moment, and then said:
“My dear, you were always free!”
“I could not feel so while that man lived,” she said.
“Why, what claim could the husband of another woman set up
on you?” demanded Mr. Force, in surprise.
“None whatever,” replied Elfrida Force, answering for her
daughter; “but after all that she has gone through, it is perfectly
natural that a delicate and sensitive girl, like Odalite, should have
felt ill at ease so long as her artful and unscrupulous enemy lived,
and should feel a sense of relief at his departure.”
“I suppose so,” said Abel Force, who was scanning the first page
of the Angleton paper. “And I suppose, also, that none of us
exactly share ‘the profound gloom’ which, according to this sheet,
‘has spread like an eclipse over all the land, on the death of her
illustrious son.’ The leading article here is on the death of
Anglesea, with a brief sketch of his life and career, and such a high
eulogium as should only have been pronounced upon the memory
of some illustrious hero, martyr, Christian, or philanthropist. But,
then, this Angleton paper was, of course, his own organ, and in his
own interests, and in those of his family, or it would never have
committed itself to such fulsome flatteries, even of the dead,
whom it seems lawful to praise and justifiable to overpraise.”
“Read it, Abel,” said Mrs. Force.
“Yes, do, papa, dear,” added Odalite.
Mr. Force read:
“THE GREAT SOLDIER OF INDIA IS NO MORE
“A profound gloom, a vast pall of darkness, like some ‘huge eclipse of sun and moon,’
has fallen upon the land at the death of her illustrious son. Col. the Hon. Angus Anglesea
died yesterday at his manor of Anglewood.
“The Hon. Angus Anglesea was born at Anglewood Manor, on November 21, 181—. He
entered Eton at the early age of twelve years and Oxford at seventeen. He graduated with
the highest honors, at the age of twenty-two. He succeeded his father on December 23,
182—. His tastes led him to a military career, and he entered the army as cornet in the
Honorable East India Company’s service, in his twenty-fifth year. His distinguished
military talents, his heroism and gallantry, his invaluable services during the Indian
campaign, are matters that have passed into national history; and become so familiar to
all that it would be impertinent to attempt to recapitulate them here.
“Col. Anglesea married, firstly, on October 13, 184—, Lady Mary Merland, eldest
daughter of the sixth Earl of Middlemoor; by whom he has one son, Alexander, born
September 1, 184—, now at Eton. Her ladyship died August 31, 185—. Col. Anglesea
married, secondly, December 20, 185—, Odalite, eldest daughter of Abel Force, Esq., of
Mondreer, Maryland, United States, by Lady Elfrida Glennon, eldest daughter of the late
Earl of Enderby, who survives him. There is no issue by the second marriage.”
Abel Force finished reading, dropped the paper and stared at his
wife and daughter, who were also staring at him. All three seemed
struck dumb with astonishment at the audacity of the last
paragraph.
“Who is responsible for that?” demanded Mrs. Force, who was
the first to find her voice.
“The reckless braggart who has gone to the devil, I suppose! No
one else could be,” said Abel Force, indignantly.
“You are right. No one but Anglesea could have been the
originator of such a falsehood.”
“And here is no mention made at all of the real second marriage
and of the real widow; whom, by the way, he must have married
within a few weeks after the death of his wife. Yet! let us see! Great
Heaven! unless there is a misprint, there has been an infamous
crime committed, and a heinous wrong done to that Californian
widow, whose marriage with Col. Anglesea was registered to have
taken place on August 1, 185—, full six weeks before the death of
Anglesea’s wife, which took place on August 25th! And in that case
—yes, in that case the diabolical villain had the legal right, if not
the moral right, to marry our daughter! Great Heaven! how
imperfect are the laws of our highest civilization, when men have
the legal right to do that which is morally wrong!”
“Oh! oh! I will never acknowledge the validity of that marriage
ceremony! I will never call myself that man’s widow, or wear a
thread of mourning for him!” exclaimed Odalite, who could be
very brave now that her mother’s great enemy was dead, and her
mother forever safe from his malignity.
“You need not, my dear. Nor need the poor Californian woman
ever suspect that any darker wrong than the robbery of her money
has been done her. Why, either, should we be so excited over this
discovery? It is no new villainy that has come to light. It is simply
that he really wronged the Californian widow instead of you. The
man is dead. Let us not harbor malice against the dead. He can
harm us no more,” said Abel, in his wish to soothe the excited
feelings of his wife and daughter. But ah! he knew nothing of the
greater cause those two unhappy ladies had had for their
detestation of their deadly enemy.
But now he was gone forever, and they were delivered from his
deviltries. It was
“The thrill of a great deliverance”

that so deeply moved them both. All felt it, even Mr. Force, who
soon arose and went out for a walk to reflect coolly over the news
of the morning.
Elfrida and Odalite went into the house and tried to occupy
themselves with the question of luncheon and other household
matters, but they could not interest themselves in any work; they
could think of nothing but of the blessed truth that a great burden
had been lifted from their hearts, a great darkness had passed
away from their minds.
Late in the afternoon Wynnette, Elva and Rosemary came in
from school.
Odalite told them that Col. Anglesea was dead, and showed
them the paper containing the notice of his death and the sketch
of his life.
At first the children received the news in silent incredulity, to be
succeeded by the reverential awe with which the young and happy
hear of death and the grave.
Wynnette was the first to recover herself.
“Oh! Odalite, I am glad, for your sake, that you are freed from
the incubus of that man’s life. I hope it is no sin to say this, for I
cannot help feeling so,” she said.
“I hope the poor sinner truly repented of his iniquity and found
grace even at the eleventh hour,” breathed the pitiful little Elva.
“I don’t know,” sighed quaint little Rosemary, folding her mites
of hands with sad solemnity. “I don’t know. It is an awful risk for
any one, more particularly for a man like Col. Anglesea.”
“‘The vilest sinner may return,’ you know,” pleaded Elva.
“Yes, he may, but he don’t often do it,” said Wynnette, putting in
her word.
“Let me read the notice of his death and the sketch of his life,”
suggested Odalite, for she had only shown them the paper
containing these articles.
 “Yes, do, Odalite,” said Wynnette.
Odalite read the brief notice, and then she turned to the sketch
and said:
“This is longer, and I need not read the whole of it, you know.”
“No. Just pick out the plums from the pudding. I never read the
whole of anything. Life is too short,” said Wynnette.
The other two girls seemed to agree with her, and so Odalite
began and read the highly inflated eulogium on Col. Anglesea’s
character and career.
The three younger ones listened with eyes and mouths open
with astonishment.
“Why, they seem to think he was a good, wise, brave man!”
gasped little Elva.
“That’s because they knew nothing about him,” exclaimed
Wynnette.
“Isn’t there something in the Bible about a man being a good
man among his own people, but turning into a very bad man when
he gets into a strange city where the people don’t know who he is?”
inquired Rosemary, very gravely.
“I believe there is, in the Old Testament somewhere, but I don’t
know where,” answered Elva.
“That was the way with Anglesea, I suspect. He was a hypocrite
in his own country; but as soon as he came abroad he cut loose
and kicked up his heels—I mean he threw off all the restraints of
honor and conscience,” explained Wynnette.
Odalite resumed her task, and read of Anglesea’s birth, his
entrance into Eton, and afterward at Oxford, his succession to his
estates, his entrance into the army, his marriage to Lady Mary
Merland, the birth of his son, and the death of his wife.
There she stopped. She did not see fit to read the paragraph
relating to herself; and to prevent her sisters from seeing it, she
rolled up the paper and put it into her pocket.
They did not suspect that there had been any mention made of
his attempted marriage to Odalite, far less that it had been
recorded there as an accomplished fact; but they wondered why
his marriage to the lady of ‘Wild Cats’ had not been mentioned.
“And is there not a word said about his Californian nuptials?”
demanded Wynnette.
 “No, not a word,” replied Odalite.
“Ah! you see, he wasn’t proud of that second wife! She wasn’t an
earl’s daughter!”
“I wonder how Mrs. Anglesea will take the news of her
husband’s death, when she hears of it,” mused Elva.
“Ah!” breathed Wynnette.
Their talk was interrupted by the entrance of their father, who
had just come in from his long walk.
“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Wynnette, “we have just heard the news!
Oh! won’t Le be glad when he hears it?”
“My dear children,” said Mr. Force, very solemnly and also a
little inconsistently, “we should never rejoice at any good that may
come to us through the death or misfortune of a fellow creature.”
“But, oh, papa! in this case we can’t help it.”
“There’s the dinner bell,” said Abel Force, irrelevantly.
 CHAPTER VII
THE EARL OF ENDERBY

Washington City in the month of September is very quiet and

sleepy. The torrid heat of the summer is passing away, but has not
passed.
It returns in hot waves when the incense of its burning seems to
rise to heaven.
No one goes out in the sun who is not obliged to go, or does
anything else he or she is not obliged to do.
The Forces lived quietly in their city home during this month,
neither making nor receiving calls.
The subject of Col. Anglesea’s death and of Le’s return very
naturally occupied much of their thought.
Le was expected home at the end of the three years voyage—
then, or thereabouts, no one knew exactly the day, or even the
week.
Letters notifying him of the death of Angus Anglesea were
promptly written to him by every member of the family, so eager
were they all to convey the news and express themselves on the
subject.
Even little Elva wrote, and her letter contained a characteristic
paragraph:
“I am almost afraid it is a sin to be so very glad, as I am that Odalite is now entirely
free from the fear that has haunted her and oppressed her spirits and darkened her mind
for nearly three years. I cannot help feeling glad when I see Odalite looking so bright,
happy and hopeful, just as she used to look before that man bewitched her. But I know I
ought to be sorry for him, and indeed I am, just a little. Maybe he couldn’t help being
bad—maybe he didn’t have Christian parents. I do hope he repented and found grace
before he died. But Rosemary shakes her head and sighs over him. But, then, you know,
Rosemary is such a solemn little thing over anything serious—though she can be funny
enough at times. Oh, how I wish it was lawful to pray for the dead! Then I would pray for
that man every hour in the day. And now I will tell you a secret, or—make you a
confession: I do pray for him every night, and then I pray to the Lord that if it is a sin for
me to pray for the dead He will forgive me for praying for that man. Oh, Le! how we that
call ourselves Christians should try to save sinners while they live!”
It was on a Saturday, near the middle of October, when
answering letters came from Le—a large packet—directed to Mr.
Force, but containing letters for each one. They were jubilant
letters, filled full of life, and love, and hope. Not one regret for the
dead man! not one hope that he had repented and found grace, as
little Elva expressed it. Clearly, Le was one of those Christians who
can rejoice in the just perdition of the lost.
His ship was at Rio Janeiro, on her return voyage, he wrote, and
he expected to be home to eat his Christmas dinner with the uncle,
aunt and cousins who were soon to be his father, mother, wife and
sisters. The New Year’s wedding that was to have come off three
years ago should be celebrated on the coming New Year with more
éclat than had ever attended a wedding before. Now he would
resign from the navy, and settle down with his dear Odalite at
Greenbushes, where it would be in no man’s power to disturb their
peace.
Le wrote in very much the same vein to every member of the
family, for, as has been seen in the first part of this story, there
never was such a frank, simple and confiding pair of lovers as
these two who had been brought up together, and whose letters
were read by father, mother and sisters, aunt, uncle and cousins.
To Elva, in addition to other things, he wrote: “Don’t trouble
your gentle heart about the fate of Anglesea. Leave him to the
Lord. No man is ever removed from this earth until it is best for
him and everybody else that he should go. Then he goes and he
cannot go before.”
“That is all very well to say,” murmured poor Elva; “but, all the
same, when I remember how much I wished—something would
happen to him—for Odalite’s sake, I cannot help feeling as if I had
somehow helped to kill him.”
“Well, perhaps you did,” said Wynnette. “I believe the most
gentle and tender angels are all unconsciously the most terrible
destroyers of the evil. I have read somewhere or other that the
most malignant and furious demon from the deepest pit will turn
tail and—no, I mean will fly, howling in pain, wrath and terror,
from before the face of a naked infant! Ah! there are wonderful
influences in the invisible world around us. You may have been his
Uriel.”
 “But I didn’t want to be—I didn’t want to be!” said Elva, almost
in tears.
“No, you didn’t want to be while you were awake and in your
natural state; but how do you know, now, what you wanted to be
when you were asleep and in your spiritual condition?”
Elva opened her large, blue eyes with such amazement that
Wynnette burst out laughing.
And nothing more was said on the subject at that time, because
Mr. Force, who had left a pile of other unopened letters on the
table while they read and discussed Le’s, now took up one from
the pile, looked at it, and exclaimed:
“Why, Elfrida, my dear, here is a letter from England for you. It
is sealed with the Enderby crest. From your brother, no doubt.”
“The first I have had for years,” said the lady, as she took the
letter from her husband’s hands.
It was directed in the style that would have been used had the
earl’s sister lived in England:

“L E F ,
“Mondreer, Maryland, U. S.”

It had been forwarded from the country post office to the city:
Elfrida opened it and read:
“E C , October 1, 186—

“M D O S : I have no apology to offer you for my long neglect of your

regular letters, except that of the sad vis inertia of the confirmed invalid. That I know
you will accept with charity and sympathy.
“I am lower in health, strength and spirits than ever before. I employ an amanuensis
to write all my letters, except those to you.
“I shrink from having a stranger intermeddling with a correspondence between an
only brother and sister, and so, because I was not able to write with my own hand, your
letters have been unanswered.
“In none of them, however, have you mentioned any present or prospective
establishment of any of your girls, except that, years ago, you spoke of an early, very
early betrothal of your eldest daughter to a young naval officer. You have not alluded to
that arrangement lately. Has that come to nothing? It was scarcely a match befitting one
who will some day, should she live, be my successor here.
“Your girls must have grown up in all these years. Let us see. Odalite must be
nineteen, Wynnette seventeen, and little Elva fifteen. Two of them, therefore, must be
marriageable, according to Maryland notions. Write and tell me all about them. And tell
me whether you will come into my views that I am about to open to you.
“I am lonely, very lonely, not having a near relative in the world, except yourself and
your family. I want you all to come over and make me a long visit, and then try to make
up your minds to the magnanimity of leaving one of your girls with me for so long as I
may have to live; or, if one girl would feel lonesome, leave two, to keep each other
company. You and your husband might be quite happy with one daughter at home.
“So I think. What do you?
“My plan may be only the selfish wish of a chronic sufferer, who is nearly always sure
to be an egotist. Consult your husband, and write to me.
“Give my love to my nieces, and kindest regards to Mr. Force, and believe me, ever,
dear Elfrida,

“Your affectionate brother,

“E .”

Mrs. Force having read the letter to herself, passed it over

without a word of comment to her husband.
Mr. Force also read it in silence, and then returned it to his wife,
saying:
“This matter requires mature deliberation. We will think over it
to-night, and decide to-morrow.”
“Or, as to-morrow is the Sabbath, we will write and give my
brother our answer on Monday,” amended the lady.
“Yes, that will be better. It will give us more time to mature our
plans,” assented Mr. Force.
“What is it?” inquired Wynnette, drawing near her parents,
while Elva and Rosemary looked the interest that they did not put
into words.
“A letter from your Uncle Enderby, my dears, inviting us all to
come over and make him a long visit.”
“Oh! that would be delightful, mamma. Can we not go?” eagerly
inquired Wynnette.
“Perhaps. You will all graduate at the end of this current term,
and then, perhaps, we can go with advantage, but not before.”
“Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful!” sang Wynnette, in the
words of a revival hymn.
“But what will Le and Odalite do?” inquired little Elva, who
always thought of everybody.
“Why, if Le and Odalite are to be married in January they can go
over there for the bridal trip, you know,” said Wynnette. “They will
have to go somewhere on a wedding tour—all brides and grooms
have to—and the reason why is because for the first few weeks
after marriage they are such insupportable idiots that no human
beings can possibly endure their presence. My private opinion is
that they ought to be sent to a lunatic asylum to spend the
honeymoon; but as that cannot be done, we can send our poor
idiots over to Uncle Enderby. Maybe by the time they have crossed
the ocean seasickness may have brought them to their senses.”
“Thank you, for myself and Le,” said Odalite, laughing.
“Without joking, I really think your plan is a good one,” said
Mrs. Force. “Whether we all follow in June or not, it will be an
acceptable attention to my brother to send our son and daughter
over to spend their honeymoon at Enderby Castle.”
There was more conversation, that need not be reported here,
except to say that all agreed to the plan of the wedding trip.
On the following Monday, Mr. and Mrs. Force, having come to a
decision, wrote a joint letter to the Earl of Enderby, cordially
thanking him for his invitation, gladly accepting it, and explaining
that the marriage of their daughter, Odalite, with Mr. Leonidas
Force, would probably come off in January, after which the young
pair would sail for England on a visit to Enderby Castle. That if all
should go well, after the two younger girls should have graduated
from their academy, the whole family would follow in June, and
join at the castle.
It would be curious, at the moment we close a letter to some
distant friend, could we look in and see what, at that moment, the
friend might be doing.
At the instant that Mr. Force sealed the envelope to the Earl of
Enderby, could he have been clairvoyant, he might have looked in
upon the library of Enderby Castle and seen the sunset light
streaming through a richly stained oriel window upon the thin,
pale, patrician face and form of a man of middle age, who sat
wrapped in an Indian silk dressing gown, reclining in a deeply
cushioned easy-chair, and reading a newspaper—the London
Evening Telegram.
And this is what the Earl of Enderby read:
“We take pleasure in announcing that Col. the Hon. Angus Anglesea has been
appointed deputy lieutenant governor of the county.”
 CHAPTER VIII
ANTICIPATIONS

With the assembling of Congress, in the first week of December,

the usual crowd of officials, pleasure-seekers, fortune hunters,
adventurers and adventuresses poured into Washington. Hotels,
boarding houses and private dwellings were full.
The serious business of fashion and the light recreation of
legislation began.
Mr. Force went down to the capitol every day to listen to the
disputes in the House or in the Senate.
Mrs. Force and Odalite drove out to call on such of their friends
and acquaintances as had arrived in the city, and to leave cards for
the elder lady’s “day”—the Wednesday of each week during the
season.
Letters came from Le. His ship was still delayed for an indefinite
time at Rio de Janeiro, waiting sailing orders, which seemed to be
slow in coming.
Le’s letters betrayed the fact that he was fretting and fuming
over the delay.
“Don’t know what the navy department means,” he wrote, “keeping us here for no
conceivable purpose under the sun. But I know what I mean. I mean to resign as soon as
ever I get home.
“If there should come a war I will serve my country, of course; but in these ‘piping
times of peace’ I will not stay in the service to be anybody’s nigger, even Uncle Sam’s!”
Odalite, Wynnette and Elva cheered him up with frequent
letters.
Christmas is rather a quiet interlude in the gay life of
Washington.
Congress adjourns until after New Year.
Most of the government officials—members of the
administration and of both houses of Congress, and many of the
civil service brigade, leave the city to spend their holidays in their
distant homesteads.
In fact, there is an exodus until after New Year.
The gay season in Washington does not really begin until after
the first of January.
The public receptions by the President and by the members of
the cabinet take the initiative.
Then follow receptions by members of the diplomatic corps, by
prominent senators and representatives, and by wealthy or
distinguished private citizens.
Mr., Mrs. and Miss Force went everywhere, and received
everybody—within the limits of their social circle.
Odalite, for the first time in her short life, enjoyed society with a
real youthful zest.
There was no drawback now. Her mother’s deadly enemy had
passed to his account, and could trouble her no more, she thought.
Le was coming home, and they were to be married soon, and go to
Europe and see all the beauties and splendors and glories of the
Old World, which she so longed to view. They were to sojourn in
the old, ancestral English home which had been the scene of her
mother’s childhood—ah! and the scene of so many exploits of her
ancestors—sieges, defenses, captures, recoveries, confiscations by
this ruler, restorations by that—events which had passed into
history and helped to make it. She would see London—wonderful,
mighty London!—St. Paul’s, the Tower. Oh! and Paris, and the old
Louvre!—Rome! St. Peter’s! the Coliseum! the Catacombs!—places
which the facilities of modern travel have made as common as a
market house to most of the educated world, but which, to this
imaginative, country girl, were holy ground, sacred monuments,
wonderful, most wonderful relics of a long since dead and gone
world.
And Le would be her companion in all these profound
enjoyments! And, after all, they should return home and settle
down at Greenbushes, never to part again, but to be near
neighbors to father, mother, sisters and friends; to give and
receive all manner of neighborly kindnesses, courtesies,
hospitalities.
Odalite’s heart was as full of happy thoughts as is a hive of
honey bees. Her happiness beamed from her face, shining on all
who approached her.
 If Odalite had been admired during the two past seasons when
she was pale, quiet and depressed, how much more was she
admired now in her fair, blooming beauty, that seemed to bring
sunshine, life and light into every room she entered.
Mrs. Force felt all a mother’s pride in the social success of her
daughter.
But to Odalite herself the proudest and happiest day of the
whole season was that on which she received a letter from Le,
announcing his immediate return home.
“This letter,” he wrote, “will go by the steamer that leaves this port on the thirteenth of
January. We have our sailing orders for the first of February. On that day we leave this
blessed port homeward bound. Winds and waves propitious, we shall arrive early in
March, and then—and then, Odalite——”
And then the faithful lover and prospective bridegroom went off
into the extravagances that were to be expected, even of him.
Odalite received this letter on the first of February, and knew
that on that day Le had sailed, homeward bound.
“He will be here some time in the first week of March,” said
Mrs. Force, in talking over the letter with her daughter. “Congress
will have adjourned by the fourth. All strangers will have left. The
city will be quiet. It will be in the midst of Lent also. I think,
Odalite, that, under all the circumstances, we had better have a
very private wedding, here in our city home, with none but our
family and most intimate friends present. Then you and Le will
sail for Europe, make the grand tour, and after that shall be
finished, go to my brother at Enderby Castle, where we—your
father, and sisters, and myself—will join you in the autumn. What
do you think?”
“I think as you do, mamma, and would much prefer the
marriage to be as quiet as possible,” Odalite assented.
“After you and Le leave us we shall still remain in the city until
the girls shall have graduated. Then we will go down to the dear
old home for a few weeks, and then sail for Liverpool, to join you
at Enderby Castle.”
“That is an enchanting program, mamma! Oh! I hope we may be
able to carry it through!” exclaimed Odalite.
“There is no reason in the world why we should not, my dear,”
replied the lady.
Odalite sighed, with a presentiment of evil which she could
neither comprehend nor banish.
 “And now,” said her mother, “I must sit down and write to Mrs.
Anglesea and to Mr. Copp. The house at Mondreer will need to be
prepared for us. It wanted repairs badly enough when we left it. It
must be in a worse condition now; so I must write at once to give
them time enough to have the work done well.”
And she retired to her own room to go about her task.
When Wynnette, Elva and Rosemary came home in the
afternoon, and heard that Le had sailed from Rio de Janeiro, and
would certainly be home early in March, they were wild with
delight.
When, upon much cross-examination of Odalite, they found out
that the marriage of the young lovers was to be quietly performed
in the parlor of their father’s house, and that the newly married
pair would immediately sail for Europe in advance of the family,
who were to join them at Enderby Castle later on, their ecstasies
took forms strongly suggestive of Darwin’s theory concerning the
origin of the species. In other words, they danced and capered all
over the drawing room.
“We want Rosemary to go with us, papa, dear,” said Elva.
“We must have Rosemary to go with us, you know, mamma,”
added Wynnette.
“That is not for us to say,” replied Mr. Force.
“It is a question for her mother and her aunt,” added Mrs.
Force.
But the little girls did not yield the point. Rosemary’s three
years’ association with them had made her as dear to Wynnette
and Elva as a little sister. And when they found out that Rosemary
was heartbroken at the prospect of parting from them, and “wild”
to accompany them, they stuck to their point with the pertinacity
of little terriers.
Now what could Abel Force—the kindest-hearted man on the
face of the earth, perhaps—do but yield to the children’s innocent
desire?
He wrote to Mrs. Hedge and to Miss Grandiere, proposing to
those ladies to take Rosemary with his daughters to Europe, to
give her the educational advantage of the tour.
In due time came the answer of the sisters, full of surprise and
gratitude for the generous offer, which they accepted in the simple
spirit in which it was made.
 And when Wynnette, Elva and Rosemary were informed of the
decision there were not three happier girls in the whole world than
themselves.
The same mail brought a letter from the housekeeper at
Mondreer, who was ever a very punctual correspondent.
She informed Mrs. Force that such internal improvements as
might be made in bad weather were already progressing at
Mondreer—that all the bedsteads were down, and all the carpets
up, the floors had been scrubbed, and the windows and painting
washed, and the kalsominers were at work.
But she wanted to know immediately, if Mrs. Force pleased,
what that news was that she was saving for a personal interview. If
it concerned her own “beat,” she would like to know it at once.
“Why, I thought you had told her, mamma,” said Odalite, when
she had read this letter.
“No, my dear. I did not wish to excite any new talk of Angus
Anglesea until you and Le should be married and off to Europe. I
shrink from the subject, Odalite. I am sorry now that I hinted to
the woman having anything to tell her.”
“But, mamma, ought she not be told that he is dead?”
“He has been dead to her since he left her. In good time she
shall know that he is dead to us also. And, my dear, remember that
he was not her husband, after all, but——”
“Oh! don’t finish the sentence, mamma! What will Le say?”
sighed Odalite.
“Nothing. This will make no difference to you or to Le. That
ceremony performed at All Faith, three years ago, whether legal or
illegal, was certainly incomplete—the marriage rites arrested
before the registry was made. You have never seen or spoken to
the would-be bridegroom since that hour; and now the man is
dead, and you are free, even if you were ever bound. Let us hear no
more on that subject, my dear. Now I shall have to answer this
letter, and—as I have been so unlucky as to have raised the
woman’s suspicions and set her to talking—I must tell her the
facts, I suppose. And—as for her sake as well as for our own, I
choose to consider her the widow of Angus Anglesea—I shall send
with the letter a widow’s outfit,” concluded the lady, as she left the
room.
The whole remainder of that day was spent by Mrs. Force in
driving along Pennsylvania Avenue and up Seventh Street,
selecting from the best stores an appropriate outfit in mourning
goods for the colonel’s widow.
These were all sent home in the evening, carefully packed in a
large deal box, which, with a letter at its bottom, was dispatched
by express to Mrs. Angus Anglesea, Charlotte Hall, Maryland.
 CHAPTER IX
VALENTINES AT MONDREER

It was the fourteenth of February, St. Valentine’s Feast and All

Birds’ Wedding Day!
It was a bright morning, with a sunny blue sky, and a soft breeze
giving a foretaste of early spring.
Miss Sibby Bayard had come by special invitation to dine, and
take tea with the housekeeper at Mondreer.
The two ladies were seated in Mrs. Force’s favorite sitting room,
whose front window looked east upon the bay, and whose side
window looked north into the woods.
A bright, open wood fire was burning in the wide fireplace, at
which they sat in two rocking-chairs with their feet upon the brass
fender.
Mrs. Anglesea had the edge of her skirt drawn up as usual, for,
as she often declared, she would rather toast her shins before the
fire than eat when she was hungry, or sleep when she was sleepy.
Miss Sibby was knitting one of a pair of white lamb’s-wool socks
for her dear Roland.
Mrs. Anglesea was letting out the side seams of her Sunday
basque.
“It is the most aggravating thing in this world that I seem to be
always a-letting out of seams, and yet always a-having my gown
bodies split somewhere or other when I put them on!” said the
widow, apropos of her work, as she laid the open seam over her
knee and began smoothing it out with her chubby fingers.
“You’re gettin’ too fat, that’s where it is. You’re gettin’ a great
deal too fat,” remarked plain-spoken Miss Sibby.
“Well! That’s just what I’m complaining of! I’m getting so fat
that the people make fun of me behind my back; they’d better not