CHAPTER 3I’d forgot that people still make formal calls, in Charleston, and also that they do it in the morning. That’s why I was a little surprised, and with my carry-over from the night before, a little dismayed, coming into the gold drawing room and finding Mrs. Atwell Reid and her daughter Jennifer sitting there. Mrs. Reid held out her hand cordially. Jennifer Reid’s blue eyes met mine so coolly that I wondered why she’d bothered to come at all. Moreover, she didn’t open her mouth while her mother and I went through the elaborate ritual of Charleston.—It was a beautiful city. The gardens were lovely, the food divine. It was snowing in New York, and rather colder in Charleston than it normally was at this time of year. How long was I staying, and had I been to the antique show at St. Ph
