Mr. Sefton was talking in smooth, liquid tones, and the others had drawn back a little in deference to the all-powerful official, while the girl was pleased, too. She showed it in her slightly parted lips, her vivid eyes and the keen attention with which she listened to all that he said.
Mrs. Markham followed Prescott's look. An ironical smile trembled for a moment on her lips. Then she said:
"The Secretary, the astute Mr. Sefton, is in love."
She watched Prescott keenly to notice the effect upon him of what she said, but he commanded his countenance and replied with a pretense of indifference:
"I think so, too, and I give him the credit of showing extremely good taste."
Mrs. Markham said no more upon the subject, and presently Prescott asked of Miss Harley the privilege of taking her home when the club adjourned, after the universal custom among the young in Southern towns.
"My shoulder is a little lame yet, but I am sure that I shall guard you safely through the streets if you will only let me try," he added gallantly.
"I shall be pleased to have you go," she replied.
"I would lend you my carriage and horses," said Mrs. Markham, who stood by, "but two of my horses were killed in front of an artillery wagon at Antietam, another fell valourously and in like manner at Gettysburg, and the fourth is still in service at the front. I am afraid I have none left, but at any rate you are welcome to the carriage."
Prescott laughingly thanked her but declined. The Secretary approached at that moment and asked Miss Harley if he might see her home.