III.
As he clattered down the precipitous steps of the day-coach, the last of which was a clear jump of at least two feet, Philip saw the tall, still vigorous figure of his uncle detach itself from the crowd and come forward with its perpetually surprising grace.
“Glad to see you, boy.” The words had something soothingly restful about them that betrayed the unhurried country gentleman.
“A very long, hot ride, I’m afraid, and the train late as usual. Your mother well? And Don’ld?” The last name was slurred with the paternal carelessness of the man who has lived to ask his youngest brother’s son whether that brother is well.
“I brought Marion over in the car.” The clear eyes twinkled mischievously. “She was sitting on the porch as I drove by, and it seemed to me you rather liked her last summer. Mind she doesn’t wind you around her little finger before your two weeks are over. These ministers’ daughters—” The phrase melted away, and his uncle turned to direct the chauffeur. But Philip smiled inwardly. He knew his favorite uncle had once been “a bad man among the ladies”, as they put it in the South.