emed only the result of the kisses of
Time, were moving as though debating some question unheard.

He recognised that the coming of Phyl had produced a great effect on Maria
Pinckney. No one knew her better than he, for no one loved her so well.

It was she who ordered him about, still, just as though he were a small
boy, and sometimes as he sat watching her, so fragile, so indomitable,
like the breath of winter would come the thought that a day would come--a
day might come soon when he would be no longer ordered about, told to put
his hat in the hall--which is the proper place for hats--told not to dare
to bring cigars into the drawing-room.

To Phyl, Maria Pinckney formed part of the spell that was surrounding her;
Meeting Street had begun the weaving of this spell, Vernons was completing
it with the aid of Maria Pinckney.

The song of the Cardinal Grosbeak in the garden, the stirring of the
window curtains in the warm morning air, the feel of morning and sunlight,
the scent of the tea that was filling the room, the room itself
old-fashioned yet cheerful, chintzy and sunny, all the things had the
faint familiarity of the street. It was as though the blood of her
mother's people coursing in her veins had retained and brought to her some
thrill and warmth from all these things; these things they knew and loved
so well.

"There's the carriage," said Miss Pinckney, whose ears had picked out the
sound of it drawing up at the front door. "They know where to take the
luggage. Richard, go and see that they don't knock the bannisters about.
Abraham is all thumbs and has no more sense in moving things than Dinah
has'n dusting them. Only last week when Mrs. Beamis was going away, he let
that trunk of hers slip and I declare to goodness I thought it was a
church falling down the stairs and tearing the place to pieces."

There was little of the stately languor of the South in Miss Pinckney's
speech. She was Northern on the mother's side. But in her prejudices she
was purely Southern, or, at least, Charlestonian.

Pinckney laughed.

"I don't think Phyl's luggage will hurt much even if it falls," said he.
"English luggage is generally soft."

"It's only a trunk and a portmanteau," said Phyl, as he left the room, but
Miss Pinckney did not seem to hear; pouring herself out another cup of tea
(she was the best and the worst hostess in the whole world) and seeming
not to notice that Phyl's cup was empty, she was off on one of h