The girl leaned forward and peered in his eyes.
"Do you really, father? Ah! I see you do. You too, then? But how you—a man?"
"Annette," called Mrs. Livingstone, "will you please come in?"
The meal that followed was a ghastly affair. One figure there alone would have served to cast gloom over the table. Senator Fairclothe sat crumpled in his chair, his white Vandyke beard crushed on his breast, looking ridiculously helpless. He had shrunk from his daughter's words. Not until he had drunk much champagne after the meal did he begin to recover. And soon after he strutted out to a shaded chair and fell asleep.
Said Mrs. Livingstone presently:
"Mr. Payne, I understand that Mr. Garman has given orders that the Egret is at your disposal if you wish to go down the river. I believe you had planned such a trip, had you not?"
"Are you going?" asked Annette suddenly.
"Yes. Our ditcher is down there at Gumbo Key. I'll feel safer if I start him up the river myself."
Annette jumped up with a cry of relief.
"Get my sweater coat, Aunty. Get one for yourself. Father! Father, wake up! We're all going for a nice, beautiful, cool ride down the river."