Receiving no reply, the girl comforted herself with the appreciative smile of the oarsmen, who were evidently of her mind as to the planter under discussion, and a mile further they ran the boat through the reeds and lily pads to the little dock at Loringwood.
Mrs. Nesbitt shook out the folds of her crisp lawn, adjusted her bonnet and puffs and sighed, as they walked up the long avenue.
“I can remember when the lily pads never could get a chance to grow there on account of the lot of company always coming in boats,” she said, regretfully, “and I’ve heard that the old Lorings lived like kings here long ago; wild, reckless, magnificent men; not at all like the Lorings now; and oh, my, how the place has been neglected of late. Not a sign of life about the house. Now, in Tom Loring’s time––”
They had reached the foot of the steps when the great 119 double doors swung back and a woman appeared on the threshold and inclined her head in greeting.
“Well, Margeret, I am glad to see some one alive,” declared Mrs. Nesbitt; “the place is so still.”
“Yes; just look at Pluto and Bob,” said Evilena, motioning towards the boatmen. “One would think a ghost had met them at the landing, they are so subdued.”
The brown eyed, grey haired woman in the door glanced at the two colored men who were following slowly along a path towards the back of the house.
“Yes, Miss Lena, it is quiet,” she agreed. “Please step in Mistress Nesbitt. I’ll have Raquel show you right up to your rooms, for Miss Loring didn’t think you could get here for an hour yet, and she felt obliged to ride over to the north corner, but won’t be gone long.”
“And Mr. Loring––how is he?”
“Mr. Loring is very much worn out. He’s gone asleep now. Doctor says he’s not to be seen just yet.”