"I could not send my little girl in better company," thought Mr.
Marker, as he shook hands with the serene young woman who came forward
to meet them, with a sweet unconsciousness of self in her greeting.
There were depths in Travis Dent's grave, gray eyes that bespoke a
strong, self-reliant character.
The train was beginning to move. Mary Lee waved a last good-bye and
went back to Travis. Settling herself luxuriously in the big cushioned
chair, she smiled across at her friend. "Isn't it lovely!" she
exclaimed. "I want to begin a letter home this minute and tell them
the good times have begun."
* * * * *
For ten summers the ancestral home of the Wickletts had been turned
into a boarding-house, but apparently it ignored the change with the
same high-born ease of manner that characterised its gentle old
mistress. The hospitality it extended to its paying guests was the
same with which it welcomed its many visitors in ante-bellum days. And
Miss Philura Wicklett was the same. They were wonderfully alike, the
aristocratic old mansion and Miss Philura. Indeed, one could scarcely
think of her apart from her familiar background of tall, white
pillars, as stately and dignified as herself. The old portraits
looking down on the faces round the great polished table, saw familiar
ones, for the same family types were repeated there year after year
among the boarders that had been welcomed at Wicklett generations
before.
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