"I am afraid it does."
"What did McDermott say his name is?"
"Patrick Dulany."
"French, I suppose?" he suggested.
"By all the laws of inference," his mother returned, with an answering gleam in her eye.
"There seems to have been a Celtic invasion
of the Carolinas during my absence. Has he a family?"
"Only a daughter." And as Frank turned to leave her Mrs. Ravenel asked, lightly: "How long do you intend to stay here, Frank?"
"I have made no plans," he answered; but going down the carriageway he said to himself, with a smile: "Mother shows her hand too plainly. The girl is evidently young and pretty."
The plantation had never seemed so beautiful to him. The wild roses were in bloom; the fringe-trees and dogwood hung white along the riverbanks; the golden azaleas, nodding wake-robins, and muskadine flowers looked up at them from below, while the cotton spread its green tufts miles and miles away to a sunlit horizon.