Ida had recognised him at once. He had undergone no change since that day when she saw him last in Milton Street, and at this moment it was much easier for her to concentrate her thoughts upon bygone things than to realise the present.
"You are Abraham Woodstock," she said very coldly, the resentment associated with the thought of him being yet stronger than the dead habit which had but now oppressed her.
"Yes, I am. And I am a friend of Osmond Waymark. I should like to talk a little with you, if you'll let me."
The old man found it so hard to give expression to the feelings that possessed him. Ida concluded at once that he came with some hostile purpose, and the name of Waymark was an incentive to her numbed faculties.
"How can you be a friend of Osmond Waymark?" she asked, with cold suspicion.
"Didn't he ever mention my name to you?"
"Never."
Waymark had in truth always kept silence with Ida about his occupations, though he had spoken so freely of them to Maud. He could not easily have explained to himself why he had made this difference, though it had a significance. Mr. Woodstock was almost at a loss how to proceed. He coughed, and moved his foot uneasily.
"I have known him all his life, for all that," he said. "And it was through him I found you."
"Found me?"