Phyl was startled for a moment, then almost instantly she came in touch with the vein and mood and mind of the other and laughed.
“I came with Miss Pinckney,” said she.
“You’re not from Charleston?”
“Yes, indeed I am.”
“But where do you live in Charleston? I’ve never seen you and I know every—besides you don’t look as if you belonged to Charleston—I don’t believe you’ve come from there.”
“Then where do you think I’ve come from?”
“I don’t know,” said Silas laughing, “but it doesn’t matter as long as you’re here, does it? ’Scuse my fooling, won’t you—I wouldn’t with a stranger, but you don’t seem a stranger somehow—though I don’t know your name.”
“Phylice Berknowles,” said Phyl, glancing up at him and half wondering how it was that, despite his good looks, his manhood, and their total unacquaintanceship, she felt as little constrained in his presence as though he were a boy.
“And my name is Silas Grangerson. Say, is Maria Pinckney in the house with father?”
“She is.”