The colonel, who had caught her eye, made a rash movement, he was going to take her in his arms. But she straightened herself.
“Please d-d-don’t!” she gasped, and ran up the steps into the house.
Colonel Denbigh stood, looking after her, his eyes full. Then he smoothed his hair again and put on his hat. Thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat he walked up and down.
“She’s game!” he thought proudly. “By gum, she’s a Denbigh. God bless her!”
At this moment Plato emerged from the house with a tray.
“It am time fo’ yo’ julep, Col’nel,” he remarked, setting down a glass that showed a green sprig of mint in crushed ice.
“Plato,” said the colonel thoughtfully, “what was it you used to tell me about old Colonel Colfax and his daughter?”
Plato flicked a little dust off the edge of the table and showed his ivories.
“Yo means ’bout Miss Ann an’ dat Mist’ Gibbie?”
The colonel nodded, his eyes on the far end of the sunny path to the orchard.