“I think I’d like to be at Queenstown when the boat comes in.”
Lettice turned and looked at him. “Why? You have a reason. I see it in your eyes.”
“So I have.” He took a letter from his pocket and held it off at a little distance. Lettice made a grab for it, but he caught her hand, and laughing, held her firmly. “It isn’t for you,” he said.
“Whose is it, then?”
“Mine.”
“Let me see the handwriting. Please do, Jamie.”
He held the letter at a careful distance, and she read the address in Rhoda’s neat hand: Mr. James Hopkins. “From Rhoda! Oh, is she coming down on the packet?”
“Yes, so the letter says, and will I meet her and Aunt Martha. It seems that Aunt Martha has been ill, and the city is hot, so she thinks she may venture down to this neighborhood; unwisely, I think, with the enemy so near and ready to pounce on us at any moment.”
“Now, James, quit talking so to scare me. And where is Rhoda’s devoted cavalier, that she must call on you for an escort?”
“I do not know where he is; her father has gone to Philadelphia, and probably the young man is there too; they seem to travel in company.”