"My child," he said, "I am an old man. I am threescore years and ten, and six more, and you bring back to me the happiest days of my youth. You are the image of Nora Blake, yes, her very image. I kiss the images of saints every day," he added, "why not this one?" and he bent and kissed Lady Nora's hand.
There was so much solemnity in the act that an awkward pause might have followed it had not Miss O'Kelly been Irish.
"Your imminence," she said, "since you've told us your age, I'll tell you mine. I'm two-and-twenty and I'm mighty tired of standin'. Let's go aft and have our tay."
They had taken but a few steps when Lady Nora, noticing the cardinal's limp, drew his arm through her own and supported him.
"I know the whole story," she whispered. "You loved my grandmother."
"Yes," said the cardinal, "but I was unworthy."
IV
They had their tea, two white-clad stewards serving them. The cardinal took a second cup and then rose and went to the side. He crumbled a biscuit along the rail.
"I have often wondered," he said, "if my pigeons come for me or for my crumbs. Nora Blake used to say that her poor were as glad to see her without a basket as with one. But she was a saint. She saw things more clearly than it is given to us to see them."
The women looked at each other, in silence.