"Yes."
At that moment Jim, the groom from the stables, came running to the portico, and stood there expectantly facing the road, down which the sound of horses' hoofs was becoming plainly audible.
"Who is it, Jim?" asked Sir Charles.
"Mas' Thompson shout f'um road, minute ago, dat Mistah Rockwell ridin' up."
"Oh—Mr. Rockwell!" Virginia rose with a cold expression settling over her face, and Sir Charles shrugged indifferently as the visitor came in sight and presently halted his mare at the portico.
He was a florid, rotund, sandy-haired fellow, the rector of St. Anne's of Annapolis; conceited, a large eater, and a fair story-teller, but without brain enough to make himself obnoxiously disagreeable. He came up the two steps, wiping his face with an enormous handkerchief. His dress had been somewhat disturbed by the long gallop, and his bag-wig was awry. Before bowing to Virginia he stopped to adjust these matters, and then, having returned the slightly distant salute of the lieutenant, he observed, in a thin, non-clerical voice:
"Mistress Virginia, if it is not inconvenient, I am bent upon seeing your brother and Madam Trevor this afternoon."
"Vincent is in the fields, Mr. Rockwell. I will have him sent for."
"Pray do not do so, my dear young lady. I would not for the world put you to such trouble. No doubt he will be in later. I will see madam, your mother, first. If you could tell me where I may find her—"
"Will you step into the parlor, please? If Sir Charles will excuse me, I will call my mother at once."