Mr. Cresswell looked annoyed.

"Well, well! that's too bad," he said. "But at any rate, have a seat a
moment out here on the verandah, Miss Taylor. And, Sam, can't you find
us a sandwich and something cool? I could not be so inhospitable as to
send you away hungry at this time of day."

Miss Taylor sat down in a comfortable low chair facing the refreshing
breeze, and feasted her eyes on the scene. Oh, this was life: a smooth
green lawn, and beds of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the dark
line of wood beyond. The deft, quiet butler brought out a little table,
spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the brightest of silver,
and "found" a dainty lunch. There was a bit of fried chicken breast,
some crisp bacon, browned potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, and
rose-colored sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. Miss Taylor wondered a
little at the bounty of Southern hospitality; but she was hungry, and
she ate heartily, then leaned back dreamily and listened to Mr.
Cresswell's smooth Southern _r_'s, adding a word here and there that
kept the conversation going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips.
At last with a sigh she arose to her feet.

"I must go! What shall I tell Miss Smith! No, no--no carriage; I must
walk." Of course, however, she could not refuse to let him go at least
half-way, ostensibly to tell her of the coming of her brother. He
expressed again his disappointment at his sister's absence.

Somewhat to Miss Taylor's surprise Miss Smith said nothing until they
were parting for the night, then she asked:

"Was Miss Cresswell at home?"