“Yes, there is a difference, but it is altogether on the side of my contention. Evelyn is much younger than I am; for although, as you know, I am still only twenty-four, Evelyn has the advantage of several years of age. She thinks she is only seventeen, but as nearly as I can figure out from what she tells me she must be approaching nineteen. However that may be, you, at any rate, are nearly as old as Arthur. You and he have been intimates all your lives, and if that intimacy is well-founded, I see no reason why you should not include me in it, so far at least, as to call me by my Christian name. You see, I was ‘Dorothy’ long before I became ‘Mrs. Brent,’ and my given name has many pleasing associations in my ears. My father always called me that. So did my mother, after I came to know her. Arthur did so, too, after I learned to like him and gave him leave. Of course, to all outsiders I am ‘Mrs. Brent’—a name that I am proud and glad to bear, because—well, because of Arthur. But to the insiders—to my friends—I have a strong inclination to be just ‘Dorothy.’ Don’t you think you have become an insider?”
Kilgariff hesitated for a time before answering. Finally he said:—
“It is very gracious of you—all this. But I wonder how much Arthur has told you about me?”
“He has told me everything he knows,” she answered, with an added touch of dignity. “We should not be man and wife if either were capable of practising reserve with the other in such a case as this.”
“Very well, then,” responded Kilgariff. “I do not like sailing under false colours; but, as you know all, why, it will be a special pleasure to me to be permitted to call you ‘Dorothy.’”
“Now, what were you going to say when I interrupted you?” asked Dorothy, the direct.
“I’m afraid I forget.”
“No, you don’t, or at least you can remember in such a case. So think a bit, Owen, and tell me what you were going to say. It was something about Evelyn.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Why, for several reasons. For one thing, you caught sight of Evelyn just at that moment, as she was teaching her mare to kneel down for her to mount. You heard her voice, too, as she chided the mare in half playful fashion for rising too abruptly after the mount. A woman’s voice means much to a man of sensitive nature. She talks in just that way to the children—my babies—and their liking for it is positively wonderful. Only this morning Mammy and I were having all sorts of trouble to get them out of their bath. Bob, the boy, was bent upon spending the rest of the day in the tub, and was disposed to raise a rumpus over every effort to lift him out, and Mildred, girl-like, took her cue from her ‘big brother.’ In the midst of the turmoil Evelyn came in. She assumed a look of astonishment, which attracted Bob’s attention and for the moment quieted him. Then she said:—