"Oh, whatever you want, Susan; you know as well as I do."
"Hm!" said Susan going down the stairway, "ain't no talk of floating islan' an' cake now, but I'se gwine hab sumpin' good all de same. Marse Robert he laks good things ter eat, ef he doesn't mek any fuss. I'se gwine see dey's dyar on de table as long as de meal holds out in de barrel."
Frances sat down in her room. There was no fire there and she was chilled and miserable. The physical discomfiture chimed with her mood and she was resentful of the bright sunshine that came streaming to her feet. When she got up and took off her riding habit, she dressed without a thought of the guest her father was bringing to dine with him. She heard the opening of the heavy front door, footsteps in the hall, and her father's voice in pleased tones of cordial hospitality. She went down to the library. The door was opened, but the portière hung in heavy folds across the inner side; when she pulled it away she looked full into the face of her hero of the morning, who stood in the middle of the room, looking back at her with the amazement on his face which must have shown on hers.
"Frances," the professor was saying, so full of his own pleasure he was not noting their embarrassment, "this is Edward Montague. You've heard me talk of Tom Montague, went to school here when I did, settled out in Rappahannock; this is his son." He laid his hand affectionately on the young man's arm. "He has bought the old Northrup place, you know; I hope he'll make a good neighbor. He has made a fine beginning. Some girl's horse was running away with her in town and he raced up behind and snatched her out of the saddle just before she got to the railroad guards; funny he doesn't know the girl's name."
"I rode on to the post-office," said the young man, looking at neither.
"And some one there knew of the adventure. He was glad enough to get away. Came up to me as soon as he saw my mail,—the names on the envelopes I mean."
"I had intended visiting you to-day," but, strangely enough, the young man's voice was past courtesy, it was fairly pleading.
"Well, well, I wonder—" the professor's gaze, comprehensive at last, fell on Frances, shrinking back against the portière.
"Frances!"