As Frank came up the path their eyes met, and he removed his hat, holding it at his side, as one who did not intend to resume it. Standing thus, he bore himself, if one might use the word of a man, with a certain sweetness, an entire seeming self-forgetfulness, as though the one to whom he spoke occupied his entire thought.
"It is Miss Dulany?" he inquired, with a smile which seemed to ask pardon for his temerity.
"I am Katrine Dulany," the girl answered, gravely, for the readjustment from the music and the silence was not easily made.
"I was fortunate enough to hear you sing. It
almost made me forget to say that I am Mr. Ravenel."
"I know," Katrine answered. "The plantation has expected your coming."
A silence followed, during which, with no embarrassment, she retained her position, waiting for him to pass. The indifference of it pleased him.
"I was going to see your father at the lodge. The roads are unfamiliar, and the path, after two years' absence, a bit lonely." The sadness which accompanied the words was honest, but it seemed for some more personal sorrow than it was.
"My father is not well," Katrine said, hastily. "I am afraid you cannot see him, Mr. Ravenel. May I ask him to go to you to-morrow instead?" There was entreaty in her voice, and Frank knew the truth on an instant.
"I cannot have you carrying messages for me."