“It will be here by the morning post, I expect,” said he. “You’d like to go, wouldn’t you?”
Phyl hesitated for a moment. “Is that—I mean is that young lady Miss Frances Rhett—the one who called here?”
“Yes,” cut in Pinckney, “those are the people. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Is Miss Pinckney going?”
“She—of course she’s going, she goes to everything, and old Mrs. Rhett is anxious to meet you.”
“It is very kind of them,” said Phyl. “Yes, I’ll come.” But she spoke without enthusiasm, and it seemed to him that a chill had come over her.
Did she know of his entanglement with Frances Rhett? And could it be—
He put the question aside. He had no right to indulge in any fancies at all about Phyl as regarded himself.
Then Miss Pinckney came out on the piazza and Phyl rose to go into the house.