“Now, let me make my apologies for coming. In the first place, I’m an old man. We’ve got a few privileges to compensate us for the loss of so much that’s good. Don’t you think that’s fair, Mrs. Ryan?”
Berny liked him. There was something so easy and affable in his manner, something that made her feel he would never censure her for her past, or, in fact, think about it at all. But she was still on her guard, though the embarrassment she had felt on his entrance disappeared.
“I don’t know,” she said vaguely. “I don’t know why an old man should have more privileges than a young one.”
“But you do know,” he said quickly, and giving a short, jolly laugh, “that an old man who’s known your husband all his life can have the privilege of calling on you without an introduction. You’ll admit that, won’t you?”
He leaned out of the narrow chair, his broad face creased with a good-humored smile, and his eyes, keen and light-colored, sharp on hers. Berny felt doubtful as to whether she liked him so much. She, too, had a large experience of men, and the hard intelligence of the eyes in the laughing face made her more than ever on the defensive.
“I’m sure I’m very glad you came,” she said politely; “any friend of Dominick’s is welcome here.”
“I’ve been that for a good many years. My friendship with the Ryans goes back to the days before Dominick was born. I knew Con and Delia well in the old times in Virginia when we were all young there together, all young, and strong, and poor. I’ve known Dominick since he was a baby, though I haven’t seen much of him of late years.”
“Nor of his wife either,” Berny was going to say, but she checked herself and substituted, “Is that so?” a comment which seemed to her to have the advantages of being at once dignified and elegantly non-committal.
“Yes, I knew Con when he was working on a prospect of his own called the Mamie R at Gold Hill. I was a miner on the Royal Charles close by on steady wages. Con was in for himself. He was playing it in pretty hard luck. If it hadn’t been for his wife he couldn’t have hung on as long as he did. She was a fine, husky, Irish girl, strong as a man; and the washing she used to do on the back porch of the shanty kept them.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” said Berny, much interested, and hoping that her visitor would continue to indulge in further reminiscences of Mrs. Ryan’s lowly beginnings.