“Welcome, Mr. Warfield, thrice welcome, as Papa sometimes says,” said Gail, smiling.
“Thank you,” said Roderick, gallantly. “I was riding in this direction and concluded to stop in and accept your kind invitation to meet the General.”
“He will be delighted to see you, Mr. Warfield, I have told him about your singing.”
“Oh, that was making too much of my poor efforts.”
“Not at all. You see my father is very fond of music—never played nor sang in his life, but has always taken keen delight in hearing good music. And I tell you he is quite a judge.”
“Which makes me quite determined then not to sing in his presence,” laughed Roderick.
“Well, you can’t get out of it now you’re here. He won’t allow it. Nor will I. You won’t refuse to sing for me, will you? Or with me?” she added with a winning smile.
“That would be hard indeed to refuse,” he replied, happy yet half-reproaching himself for his very happiness.
“Daddie is walking around the grounds somewhere at present,” continued Gail. “Won’t you step inside and rest, Mr. Warfield? He’ll turn up presently.”
“Oh, this old rustic seat here on the porch looks exceedingly comfortable. And I fancy that is your accustomed rocker,” he added, pointing to a piece of embroidery, with silk and needles, slung over the arm of a chair.