They paused at a house set back a little from the street, with a courtyard of blooming flowers. There was a wide covered porch and a trellis work wreathed with vines. A wide door opened into a spacious hall.
A young colored boy came out to them.
"Pomp," Miss Wharton said, "take the pony and give him a little feed and water, not too much, mind now. He wants a little rest, so do we."
Pompey assisted them out with a flourish, and led the pony up a side way. They walked to the porch, raised by three steps, and Miss Wharton was greeted warmly by several parties.
"Here is a table," said Mrs. Mason. "My dear creature, I haven't seen you in an age. Have you been getting married, and is this his daughter? Did you take him for the sake of the child?"
"Alas! I have not been so fortunate! The child has both parents. And she has just come from Pittsburg. You know, M. de Ronville went out there and brought back—well, it is his grandniece, I suppose—Miss Daffodil Carrick."
The waiter, another colored servant—they were quite favorites in the city for their obsequious politeness—placed chairs for them.
"Pittsburg! Why, that's way at the West in the Indian countries, on the way to Ohio, I believe. What a long journey. And how is M. de Ronville?"
"Rather improved by his journey, I think. Now, Daffodil, what will you have? You ought to be hungry."
"You choose for me, madam;" in a low tone, and with a tint of exquisite coloring.