“But you are leaving him, and he is very glad when any of his men go away from him to do better for themselves. He feels that it’s a credit to him. I suppose it’s like the pride the colleges take in a successful graduate.” Here obviously was an opportunity for Walsh to follow her line of thought and speak in praise of his alma mater; but he switched the subject abruptly. “You are a stranger here, Mrs. Craighill?” “Yes, I was! But I’m beginning to feel at home already. I suppose it will take me years to learn everything about this wonderful city.” “I have been here twenty-five years and have it all to learn--I mean this sort of thing,” and Walsh glanced about as though to broaden into generalization his ignorance of society. “This is the first time I have ever crossed a threshold in this town.” “How strange!” He was even more difficult than the deaf financier, this strange old fellow with the shiny pate and unsmiling countenance. “But,” she laughed, “I’m going to take this as personal to me--your coming to-night! You won’t grudge me the belief that I’m responsible for your appearance--your first appearance--if you really mean me to believe that it is the first!” “There is no doubt of that. It’s what they call my début. I came”--and he smiled, a smile that was of the eyes rather than the thin lips--“I came for that. I came just to see you.” He looked at her so fixedly that she shrugged her shoulders and turned away. This might be the privilege of an old friend of her husband, but his words fell harshly, as from lips unused to gracious speech. Very likely he was an eccentric character, who, from his own statement, was ignorant of social usage. His keen scrutiny made Mrs. Craighill uncomfortable for a moment. “Now that you have seen me, Mr. Walsh, please tell me your verdict; spare nothing!” “I think,” said Walsh bluntly, “that you are much nicer than I expected.” He was trying to take a lump of sugar for his coffee with the tongs, but his hand shook. “Fingers were made first! Allow me! You are smoking too much--that’s the answer,” she laughed. Walsh was annoyed by this evidence of weakness, for his nerves were usually steady, and he was vexed to be obliged to accept her help. “Horses and cigars are your only diversions, I hear, Mr. Walsh.” “Who told you that?” “It was Wayne, I think.” “Oh, yes; Wayne,” repeated Walsh, as though recalling the name with difficulty. “Wayne and you are great friends.” “Well, I don’t know that he would admit it,” and Walsh smiled. Mrs. Craighill reflected that there was something akin to tenderness just now in the face of this curious man. “Oh, he told me about it! He spoke of you much more enthusiastically than Colonel Craighill did. It was not that Colonel Craighill didn’t say everything that was kind; but with Wayne, it was as though----” “Well?” “As though he loved you--there!”