My mother looked profoundly uncomfortable. The Butterfly Man reddened guiltily under her reproachful glance, but Mary Virginia giggled irrepressibly.
"I choose the Book of Obituaries first!" said she promptly, with dancing eyes. Flint drew a breath of relief.
He sat by silently enough, while Laurence and Madame and Mary Virginia talked of everything under heaven. His whole manner was that of an amused, tolerant, sympathetic listener—a manner which spurs conversation to its happiest and best. Not for nothing had Major Cartwright called him the most discriminatin' listener in Carolina.
"Oh, by the way, Flint! Hunter came by this morning to see Dabney. He is going to give a series of Plain Talks to Workingmen this winter, and of course he wants the Clarion to cover them. What do you think, Padre?"
"I think they will be eminently sensible talks and well worth listening to," said I promptly.
The Butterfly Man smiled crookedly, and shot me a freighted glance.
"Of course," said Laurence, easily. "Where's your father these days, Mary Virginia?"
"He was at the plantation this morning, but he'll be here to-morrow, because I wired him to come. I've just got to have him for awhile, business or no business."
"You did me a favor, then. I want to see him, too."
"Anything very particular?"