wager she wants rescuing."
Garrett looked in the direction Charles was indicating as Charles continued.
"She hates these semi-disguised courting occasions, you know. Says all the young pups you see there bore her . I love to spy on her a little on occasions like this, to observe my daughter when she doesn't know I'm watching. I've learned a great deal about her this way. You'll notice how she sits in that chair and bends over her embroidery? Now you can't appreciate this, but I happen to know Christie hates needlework—does it only when her aunt nags her I into it, although I remember one Christmas when I received from her a handsomely embroidered vest— I well, at any rate, you see her stitching away right now? It's a subtle avoidance technique. It's her way of not mingling any more than she has to, with those eager Lotharios there. . . .Sometimes she worries me, though. She'll be eighteen in less than a fortnight, and yet, she exhibits not the slightest interest in getting wed. Seems perfectly content to remain here I at Windreach, riding that adored horse of hers, running about like a half-grown filly . . . Tell me, I are you a married man, Garrett?"
"No, sir," answered Garrett, his eyes on the terrace.
"Ah, well, then you know nothing of the problems of raising children. I tell you, horses are a lot easier!
Come, let's have some lemonade."
They walked toward the house, and as they neared the terrace, Rebecca, who had been talking to Christie, caught sight of them, and turning to her hostess with great animation, she asked breathlessly, "Christie, who is that? The man with your father!"
As she hadn't been looking in the same direction, Christie turned and stiffened. "Oh," she answered, trying to sound casual, "a guest of Father's. He's here mainly on business."
"Well, what's his name? He's disgracefully handsome!"
"Garrett Randall. He's from the low country near Charleston," said Christie, wishing she could escape for sure now.
"Well?" asked Rebecca.
" Well, what?"
"What else do you know about him, you lucky thing! Is he married?"
"Why, I—I don't know, Rebecca. I'm not in the habit of asking such things about Father's guests."
"Oh, I would have, if he were staying at ray home," enthused Rebecca. "I'll tell you what—I'll find out!"
"Rebecca, no! I don't care to know— Good afternoon, Father, Garrett," she called. "Will you have some lemonade?"
"It's just what I had in mind, darlin'," said her father, coming up and kissing her on the forehead.
As Charles proceeded to make introductions, Rebecca moved casually to Garrett's side, giving Christie a wink. Christie's answer was to make a face at her friend, before bending more closely over her needlework. What should she care about
Garrett Randall's marital state? More than likely, he Was married, with a pack of children at home, to boot. It would be entirely within character for him not to let a little thing like that stop him from his womanizing pursuits!
She smiled to herself as she noticed Rebecca engaging him in conversation now. Leave it to Rebecca Kingsley to find out any necessary information! She would probably ask him outright, regardless of how forward it might appear.
Just then, Rebecca stole a moment when Garrett's attention was focused elsewhere, and catching Christie's eye, she gave her a broad grin and shook her head negatively. So Garrett was unmarried. Christie discovered herself mildly curious. "Strange," she thought. "He must be over thirty, although he looks as if he could be younger. But I'd guess over thirty because, at dinner, he mentioned fighting under William Moultrie and later, with Francis Marion, the 'Swamp Fox,' in the War for Independence. Hmmph! He's probably single because no decent woman would have him!"
Suddenly, Garrett turned and crossed to where she was sitting, and Christie wished she'd gone riding. Perhaps she still would!
"Good day, Christie. I wouldn't have thought needlework to be one of your interests," said
Garrett looked in the direction Charles was indicating as Charles continued.
"She hates these semi-disguised courting occasions, you know. Says all the young pups you see there bore her . I love to spy on her a little on occasions like this, to observe my daughter when she doesn't know I'm watching. I've learned a great deal about her this way. You'll notice how she sits in that chair and bends over her embroidery? Now you can't appreciate this, but I happen to know Christie hates needlework—does it only when her aunt nags her I into it, although I remember one Christmas when I received from her a handsomely embroidered vest— I well, at any rate, you see her stitching away right now? It's a subtle avoidance technique. It's her way of not mingling any more than she has to, with those eager Lotharios there. . . .Sometimes she worries me, though. She'll be eighteen in less than a fortnight, and yet, she exhibits not the slightest interest in getting wed. Seems perfectly content to remain here I at Windreach, riding that adored horse of hers, running about like a half-grown filly . . . Tell me, I are you a married man, Garrett?"
"No, sir," answered Garrett, his eyes on the terrace.
"Ah, well, then you know nothing of the problems of raising children. I tell you, horses are a lot easier!
Come, let's have some lemonade."
They walked toward the house, and as they neared the terrace, Rebecca, who had been talking to Christie, caught sight of them, and turning to her hostess with great animation, she asked breathlessly, "Christie, who is that? The man with your father!"
As she hadn't been looking in the same direction, Christie turned and stiffened. "Oh," she answered, trying to sound casual, "a guest of Father's. He's here mainly on business."
"Well, what's his name? He's disgracefully handsome!"
"Garrett Randall. He's from the low country near Charleston," said Christie, wishing she could escape for sure now.
"Well?" asked Rebecca.
" Well, what?"
"What else do you know about him, you lucky thing! Is he married?"
"Why, I—I don't know, Rebecca. I'm not in the habit of asking such things about Father's guests."
"Oh, I would have, if he were staying at ray home," enthused Rebecca. "I'll tell you what—I'll find out!"
"Rebecca, no! I don't care to know— Good afternoon, Father, Garrett," she called. "Will you have some lemonade?"
"It's just what I had in mind, darlin'," said her father, coming up and kissing her on the forehead.
As Charles proceeded to make introductions, Rebecca moved casually to Garrett's side, giving Christie a wink. Christie's answer was to make a face at her friend, before bending more closely over her needlework. What should she care about
Garrett Randall's marital state? More than likely, he Was married, with a pack of children at home, to boot. It would be entirely within character for him not to let a little thing like that stop him from his womanizing pursuits!
She smiled to herself as she noticed Rebecca engaging him in conversation now. Leave it to Rebecca Kingsley to find out any necessary information! She would probably ask him outright, regardless of how forward it might appear.
Just then, Rebecca stole a moment when Garrett's attention was focused elsewhere, and catching Christie's eye, she gave her a broad grin and shook her head negatively. So Garrett was unmarried. Christie discovered herself mildly curious. "Strange," she thought. "He must be over thirty, although he looks as if he could be younger. But I'd guess over thirty because, at dinner, he mentioned fighting under William Moultrie and later, with Francis Marion, the 'Swamp Fox,' in the War for Independence. Hmmph! He's probably single because no decent woman would have him!"
Suddenly, Garrett turned and crossed to where she was sitting, and Christie wished she'd gone riding. Perhaps she still would!
"Good day, Christie. I wouldn't have thought needlework to be one of your interests," said
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