"Hello, I say!"
The echo came back distinctly, then a human voice answered the salutation.
"It is Tom," Yates said. "I hope to the Lord there's somebody with him. I'm frantic to be at work."
Just then several figures became visible in a turn of the path; Yates went down the steps and walked forward to meet them, while Sybil leaned her cheek against the low railing and looked quietly down, humming fragments of the air which her husband had so unceremoniously interrupted.
Yates joined the party, and they stood for a few moments in conversation; then the whole group moved toward the house, Sybil watching them still with that careless yet singular expression which few men could look upon without emotion.
There was no one with the new-comer, except two or three of the men who were employed by Yates and his friend about the place, more probably by way of making a security of numbers than from any actual necessity that existed for their services. These men passed toward another entrance, while Yates and his companion ascended the steps of the veranda.
"Good evening, Mrs. Yates," the man called out.
She answered his greeting civilly enough, but without changing her attitude, and began even whispering the pretty song, as if she found something soothing in the simple words.
"You haven't had any supper, Tom?" Yates asked.
"None, and I am hungry as a wolf."