The man in the portico grinned somberly.
"Yes. I guess I am—an old friend—before he came to America."
"Oh!" said Beth quietly. "You've known him a long time then?"
"Ye might say so. We were buddies together."
"Then you knew him in—in London?"
The man grinned. "Can't say I did. Not in London. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I just wanted to know."
The gaze of the stranger upon her was disquieting. His eyes seemed to be smoldering like embers just ready to blaze. She knew that she ought to be returning and yet she didn't want to go leaving her object unaccomplished, the dignity of her plan having already been greatly disturbed. And so she hesitated, curiosity at war with discretion.
"Would you mind telling me your name?" she asked timidly.
The man shrugged a shoulder and glanced away from her. "I reckon my name wouldn't mean much to you."