"No, we haven't," said Mrs. Witherbee. "He's been here most of the summer, but he's only been with us a few weeks. He was Mr. Davidson's guest at first. He's an old friend of Mr. Davidson, it seems. That's how we came to meet him.
"Stephen took a fancy to him and invited him over here. I imagine he was glad of the chance, because things were rather slow over at Davidson's without any young people, particularly after Billy Kellogg went away."
"Billy Kellogg?"
"Mr. Davidson's nephew. A nice boy, but an idler. You probably heard his uncle mention the fact that he was working in New York. Mr. Davidson forced him to. The straw that broke the camel's back, it seems, was when Billy lost a big sum of money playing bridge with Mr. Morton. That disgusted his uncle."
"But didn't Mr. Davidson feel any resentment against Mr. Morton for having won his nephew's money?" asked Rosalind.
"Apparently not," said Mrs. Witherbee, knitting busily. "You see, men are funny about those things. Mr. Davidson said if it hadn't been Morton it would have been somebody else, and that it was all a fair gamble. But he was furious at his nephew for losing.
"And now he gets reports from the banking-firm every day, telling him how finely the boy is getting on. And that's how, in a roundabout sort of way, we got Mr. Morton. Rather distinguished-looking, isn't he, dear?"
Rosalind shrugged her shoulders and watched the tennis-player.
"Of course he's dreadfully English," added Mrs. Witherbee; "but he can't help that. And his name—it's Evelyn! Stephen thinks it's the funniest thing he ever heard—H. Evelyn Morton.
"But he likes him, just the same. Everybody does. You will, my dear. Why, Rosalind, you can't tell but he just might be the one who—"