brightened at the thought, but Miss Pinckney did not notice it. She had turned from the subject of the Rhetts and their automobiles to Charleston society in general. “Now that you’ve come,” said she, “you will find there’s not a moment you won’t enjoy yourself if you’re fond of gadding about. All the society here is in the hands of young people, balls and parties! The St. Cecilias give three balls a year. I go always, not to dance but to look on. Richard is a 108 St. Cecilia—St. Cecilias? Why, it’s just a club a hundred-and-forty years old. There are two hundred of them, all men, and they know how to entertain. I have been at every ball for the last half century. Not one have I missed. Then there’s the yacht club and picnics to Summerville and the Isle of Palms, and bathing parties and boating by moonlight. If you are a gad-about you will enjoy all that.” 108 “But I’m not,” said Phyl. “I’ve never been used to society, much. I like books better than people, unless they’re—” “Unless they’re what?” “Well—people I really like.” “Well,” said Miss Pinckney, “one wouldn’t expect you to like people you didn’t like—there’s no ‘really’ in liking, it’s one thing or the other—you don’t care for girls, maybe?” “I haven’t seen much of them,” replied Phyl, “except at school, and that was only for a short time. I—I ran away.” “Ran away! And why did you run away?” “I was miserable; they were kind enough to me, but I wanted to get home—Father was alive then—I felt I had to get home or die—I can’t explain it—It felt like a sort of madness. I had to get back home.” Miss Pinckney was watching the girl, she scarcely seemed listening to her—Then she spoke: “Impulsive. If I wasn’t sitting here in broad daylight, I’d fancy it was Juliet Mascarene. What makes you so like her? It’s not the face so much, 109 though the family likeness runs strong, still, the face is different, though like—It’s just you yourself—well, I’m sure I don’t know, seems to me there’s a lot of things hid from us. Look at the Pringles, Anthony’s family, the ones that live in Tradd Street. If you put their noses together, they’d reach to Legare Street. It runs in the family. Julian Pringle, he died in ’70, he was just the same. Now why
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