“What’s made you crazy to see it?”
“Because it’s the place you come from.”
“I hate compliments.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you, I was complimenting Ireland,” said Silas sweetly. She was silent, a white moth passing close to her held her gaze for a moment, then it flitted away across the bushes.
“Let’s forget Ireland for a moment,” said she, “and talk of Charleston. Do you know many people there?”
“I know most every one. The Pinckneys and Calhouns and Tredegars and Revenalls and—”
“Rhetts.”
“Yes—but there are a dozen Rhetts; same as there’s half a hundred Pinckneys and Calhouns, families, I mean. What’s his name—Richard Pinckney, your guardian, is engaged to a Rhett.”
“He is not.”