"You seem to have forgotten your duty to your brother's wife, Marian! I am ashamed of you, since you knew she was here! Your head is so filled up with finery there is no room for manners," the mother exclaimed shortly.
"I am sorry. I thought you and my father would want them both a while." She held out her hand to Patricia and gave her a welcome and good-wishes.
"And now order the tea at once. Randolph thinks he cannot remain all night, and it is a long ride home. But it will be much pleasanter than the journey hither."
When they went out on the porch—where most of the time was spent in the warm weather—they found the men had gone to inspect the crops and the stock.
"You will find Randolph rather easy-going," Madam Floyd said to her new daughter. "And the children have grown quite lawless this year, though I cannot say Catharine kept them with a firm hand. Those two have their father's ways in a great measure. I hope you will not find it too hard, Mistress Patricia, and in any perplexity I will try to give you good counsel. I hope we shall be the best of friends."
"I am thankful for your kindliness toward me," returned the daughter-in-law. "I feel quite alone in the world. So many of the Baltimore cousins are dead. And I lost my own mother when I was so young."
"The little girl seems a nice quiet child," the elder said presently. "Girls are more manageable when they are small, but troublesome enough when the time of lovers begins."
Annis sat on the step watching the great peacock strutting about and the meek peahens seemingly lost in admiration of their lord's grandeur.
Then there was a bountiful supper and a fine ride home in the moonlight and the deliciously fragrant air. Annis leaned down on her new sister's shoulder and fell asleep.