“Oh, so very like,” replied Gertrude, “I can almost fancy sometimes he is looking down at me from the wall.”
“Ah,” exclaimed the other, giving a quick glance up at the picture and back to Gertrude, whose hands he still held, and pressed warmly. “Of course I don’t remember. Quite a little shaver when I went over yonder.”
Saul, who stood glowering at the pair, half mad with rage and disappointment, winced at these words, but setting his teeth hard, he said quietly:
“Have you just arrived?”
“Reached Liverpool last night. Came on this morning. Very rough passage. Who are you?”
“I,” said Saul, forcing a smile—“well, I am—here is my card.”
He did not finish his sentence, but drew a card from his case.
“Mr Saul Harrington,” read the stranger. “Let’s see, I think I have heard of you?”
“Well, I should presume so,” replied Saul stiffly.
“I was right up the country when grandfather’s last letter came,” said the new-comer hastily, “but I got back to ’Frisco, and then across to New York, and took boat soon as I could, and here I am. Didn’t stop about much luggage, so as to be quick. Can I stay here?”