McVeigh unfolded the paper and glanced at it with an incredulous frown.
“What is the meaning of this agreement to purchase a girl of color, aged twelve, named Rhoda Larue? We have bought no colored people from the Lorings, nor from any one else.”
“The girl was contracted for without your knowledge, 371 my boy, before your majority, in fact; though she is mentioned there as a girl of color she was to all appearances perfectly white, the daughter of an octaroon, and also the daughter of Tom Loring.”
The woman back of the curtain was listening now with every sense alert, never for one instant had it occurred to her that Kenneth McVeigh did not know! How she listened for his next words!
“And why should a white girl like that be bought for the McVeigh plantation?”
There was a pause; then Clarkson laid down the other papers, and faced him, frankly:
“Kenneth, my boy, she was never intended for the McVeigh plantation, but was contracted for, educated, given certain accomplishments that she might be a desirable personal property of yours when you were twenty.”
McVeigh was on his feet in an instant, his blue eyes flaming.
“And who arranged this affair?––not––my father?”
“No.”