"You will pardon my absence for a while, sir," he said.
"My daughter will entertain you."
In silence they watched him as he strode off under the trees through tall grass, a yellow setter at his heels. A strange peace was over Stephen. The shadows of the walnuts and hickories were growing long, and a rich country was giving up its scent to the evening air. From a cabin behind the house was wafted the melody of a plantation song. To the young man, after the burnt city, this was paradise. And then he remembered his mother as she must be sitting on the tiny porch in town, and sighed. Only two years ago she had been at their own place at Westbury.
He looked up, and saw the girl watching him. He dared not think that the expression he caught was one of sympathy, for it changed instantly.
"I am afraid you are the silent kind, Mr. Brice," said she; "I believe it is a Yankee trait."
Stephen laughed.
"I have known a great many who were not," said he, "When they are garrulous, they are very much so."
"I should prefer a garrulous one," said Virginia.
"I should think a Yankee were bad enough, but a noisy Yankee not to be put up with," he ventured.
Virginia did not deign a direct reply to this, save by the corners of her mouth.