"H—m," replied Jerry. "I can't seem to think of Una married to anybody. She's so much occupied—"
"But she will be married some day, my boy. Charity begins at home."
She had used her woman's weapons loyally, at least. I think her comments on Laidlaw must have made Jerry silent for awhile and he told me little of the conversation that followed. But they must have "cleared up" all the things that stood between them. I think the subsequent conversation must have been largely pleasant and personal, for Jerry spoke of the wonderful weather and how Una admired the view they had of the great river from Hoboken with the lights of the towers of Manhattan, like the sparks of some mighty fire, hanging midway in the air.
I was silent when he had concluded. Evidently he wanted me to say something, for he looked at me once or twice as he was refilling his pipe. But I was thinking deeply.
"She's a wonder," he said after awhile. "You know the committee of ladies that's supposed to manage things down town have all gone away, leaving the whole responsibility to Una—the plans, specifications, business arrangements and all."
"As Marcia suggested," I replied, "they're sure that matters are in good hands."
"Yes, she's so sane. That's it. You know when we got to town I took dinner with the family down in Washington Square. Jolly lot of girls, like stair-steps, from eight to eighteen, but not a bit like Una, Roger, and the mother, placid, serene, intelligent with a dignity that seems to go with the house and neighborhood—a dear old lady, not so terribly old, either, and astonishingly well informed—Fine old house, refreshing, cool, mellow with age and decent associations; none of your Louis Quinze business there. I always wondered where Una got her poise. Now I know."
"Had you never called there before?" I asked when he paused to light his pipe.
"No, I always went to her office in the Mission and had her in a different setting, a bare room, desk, filing-cases, placards on the wall, scrupulously neat and business-like, but uncompromising, Roger, and severe. The house makes a better frame for her somehow—"
I knew what he meant, for I had seen her in it, but of course was silent.