“You go to your dinner! You’ll get no compliments here,” she called back gaily.
But it was a tremulous gaiety. The old man knew it, and he suspected the headache. He went slowly and thoughtfully down-stairs. Dinner was already served in the quaint dining-room, Plato standing erect and black as ebony behind the colonel’s chair. The old man glanced contentedly at the white damask and the old-fashioned service.
“What have you got for dinner, Plato?” he asked as he sat down.
Plato went over a modest menu.
“Got some deviled crabs, col’nel. Yessuh, got ’em dis mornin’ when yo’ was in court—bigges’ crabs I’s seen dis season.”
The colonel considered.
“Plato, you take a deviled crab up to Miss Jinny’s room. If she doesn’t eat it, I’ll ’phone for Dr. Barbour.”
Unconsciously, the colonel was applying Miranda’s panacea for all human ills. Inwardly he was exceeding wroth with William Carter. His wrath and his fears continued well into the next morning, until he saw Virginia, pale but smiling, seated in the old wagonette, and Lucas driving sedately down the roadway to the gate. The colonel observed their departure with an anxious eye.
He was not sure now that Virginia cared. She was pale, but she was holding her own. The idea that William Carter had dared to come straight back—after that trial and all!
“The lummox!” the colonel growled under his breath. “The cowardly lummox—he knew I was out.”