“Why,” said the old mother, looking into his face, “I have seen him before.”
And Tony lifted his eyes—large, lustrous, black—to the old lady’s face rimmed with silver hair, and said, ingenuously,
“I don’t think you ever did. I have never been here.”
“But I have seen you, and I want to see you again; and you will come when you can, won’t you? Where do you live?”
“At Mr. Badger’s, and I came from New York with a Mr. Blanco.”
“Where is your father?”
“He is in Italy.”
“And that is over the sea, over the sea!” she murmured, as she returned to her sitting-room. There she stood looking at the picture of a ship, and, glancing up at the church vane, which could be seen from her window, she wondered if the weather would be easterly and rainy that day.
When they were alone, Tony said to Mr. Walton, “Do you see Tim Tyler often?”
“Pretty often.”