“Let that be the least of your troubles,” Hal assured her. “Perhaps he did. Anyway, I’m safe—and how!”
She smiled and got to her feet.
“Now to let Grandfather meet you,” she said quietly. “He’ll like you because of your liking for Rene, but I can’t say he’ll be terribly courteous. You see, he’s not outgrown the bitterness my great-grandfather brought down here from the war.”
“That’s right,” said Hal, following her along the narrow trail. “That was your great-grandfather, Marcellus Pemberton, huh? Well, he wasn’t to be blamed for feeling bitter. Pride. But your grandfather Marcellus; he shouldn’t....”
“All he knows about Yankees he learned from great-grandfather Marcellus,” Felice said whimsically, “and that wasn’t very complimentary from all accounts. So he’s not to be judged on his merits or demerits.” She laughed. “Rene and I are long enough out of that generation not to care what the Yankees did. So was my father. He was all for going back to the United States—to Virginia.”
“That’s right, you people originally hail from Virginia, huh? Well, it’s a lovely state. You wouldn’t go wrong in going back.”
“Wouldn’t we?” she asked wistfully and seemed to consider it. “What is the U. S. like, Mr. Hal?”
“The kind of a place that you criticize when at home, but miss it like the dickens when you go away. Anyway, she’s not so bad as countries go, Miss Felice. It’s fine for girls.”
“Girls!” she repeated softly. “It must be fine. Rio is nice, but no doubt Virginia is nicer.”
“And safer,” said Hal, looking about the lonely place.