“It’s the Governor’s son,” said she.
Boyle caught sight of Agnes at that moment and jumped to his feet. Walker turned to introduce him.
“No need,” said Boyle, striding forward to their great amazement, his hand outstretched. “Miss Gates and I are old friends.”
Agnes drew back with a frightened, shrinking start, her face very white.
“I beg your pardon, sir!” she protested with some little show of indignation.
“This is Miss Horton,” said Walker, coming to her rescue with considerable presence. “She’s one of us.”
Boyle stammered, staring in amazement.
“I apologize to Miss Horton,” said he with something like an insolent emphasis upon the name. “The resemblance is remarkable, believe me!”
Agnes inclined her head in cold acknowledgment, as if afraid to trust her tongue, and passed on into the tent. Boyle stared after her, and a feeling that there was something out of tune seemed to fall upon the party waiting there for supper in the red sunset.135
Boyle forgot the rest of his story, and the others forgot to ask him to resume it. He repeated something about remarkable resemblances, and seemed to have fallen into a period of abstraction, from which he roused himself presently with a short, grunting laugh.