Deborah was immensely encouraged when Selma later came downstairs for supper with all of them. But she did not know Selma, would never indeed have the smallest understanding of her. What she looked upon as a sign of Selma’s recovery had nothing to do with that. Selma had every intention of continuing her life much as it had taken form during the last several weeks. But she did regard the Misses Pennington highly, and wanted to be courteous to them, and so she made the effort, no small one, that first day to make them feel welcome.

After supper she again excused herself and retired to her room, where she was glad to find Pauline waiting. Sarah was disappointed at her leaving them, but Leon instantly offered himself as escort over the gardens.

He included Penelope in his invitation, but she declared that she would be more comfortable with Deborah and Nell on the wide porch where the three sat rocking contentedly back and forth in large, cane-bottomed and cane-backed chairs. Felix had gone out by himself to smoke a cigar and “to look over the stock,” a standard ploy of the menfolk to get away from their women, who were glad enough to see them go, preferring, as they did, the easiness of one another’s company.

It was not yet dark. There was an insect hum over the gardens like the echo of a held note of a cello, full and warm and ripe with the completion of a fair summer’s day. The flower gardens were lush with color, fragrant with rose and petunia and jasmine. The graveled walks had been newly raked. A white peacock, out to catch the last rays of the evening sun, made a procession all by himself as he stepped out from behind a hedge.

“Look at him!” Sarah marveled. “Like the king leaving his palace to open Parliament.”

“He is; oh, he is!” Leon laughed delightedly.

They talked then, as they strolled, of Savannah. It had, in truth, already acquired a nostalgia and glamour of the past for Leon, although it was not so very long since he had lived there as a student. But part of the special status he now accorded it in his affectionate references was meant to please Sarah, whose home it had always been.

“Are the Pride of India trees blooming on South Broad?” he asked.

“We call them chinaberry,” she said with a smile.

“My name is grander.”

“That is just the point. Chinaberry will do for me.”

“You are not romantic,” he accused.

“I am!” she protested, then quickly turned her face to look up into the dark foliage of a huge magnolia tree, her eyes drawn by the dazzle of sun on a perfect, creamy bloom. “How lovely it is. I don’t believe I have ever seen such a large magnolia.”