Marie Welkie, because of having to keep an eye on her nephew from the veranda, could not avoid noticing the stranger. The clothing, the jewelry, the air of assurance, had disturbed and half amused her; but the kindly tone with the boy, the parting pat of his head, were more pleasing. She answered his knock herself.
"Good evening—Miss Welkie?" That Southern "good evening" in the middle of the afternoon likewise pleased her.
"Miss Welkie, yes."
"I'm Mr. Necker." From a gold-mounted case he drew out a card. "I'm looking for your brother."
"He won't be home for some time yet. But won't you step in, Mr. Necker, from out of the sun?"
"Thank you. It is warm, isn't it? Warmer than ordinary?"
"No, I shouldn't say so. It's usually hot here."
"Then it must be hot here when it is hot. It wasn't so bad out in the Gulf. I just got in—from Key West. Not many passengers come here, Miss Welkie?"
"Only somebody especially interested in the works—usually from Washington. Do you mind if I go ahead with this ensign for my nephew, Mr. Necker?" She held up a partly finished American ensign. Above the top of it the visitor could see part of the very white forehead and a front of dark straight hair. "I promised to have it ready for my nephew surely by morning, and after my brother gets home there probably won't be much spare time. But were you the only passenger for here, Mr. Necker?"
"There was one other. He got off at the new fortification landing. Twenty-nine or thirty perhaps he was—a well-made, easy-moving kind." His voice was casual, but his gaze was keen enough. It never left her face. "A tall man came running down to meet him," he resumed. "They seemed terribly glad to see each other."