"What's his name?" she asked.
"Benjamin Oresky."
"What's that?—say it again."
Edward repeated his friend's name, but the good Irish lady could not grasp it, and she said: "Sure, that's a Jew, your friend is, and look out for him; he may be an exception, but people that killed Christ are not good people. It's me that do tell you this, and kape it to yourself."
At noon when Ben came, Edward told him of his conversation with their landlady, and they both bad much fun about it; and all during their lunch they could not help but smile at the way she looked at Ben.
After lunch Ben went back to his work, and later Edward was on his way to Nellie's place. This time he was firmly decided to speak business and find out if Nellie could help him get a situation at once. "I can't live on love," he said to himself, as he stood at her door.
When Nellie came in the boudoir where Edward was waiting, she noticed the change in his face. He was pale, and the dark rings around his eyes told of sleepless nights. She greeted him with more cordiality than ever, if possible, and Edward felt her charm creep upon him like the sensation which follows drinking old wine.
"Poor boy," she said, holding his right hand in hers, "I am afraid you don't feel well, or that you have been worrying," and she looked him straight in the eyes.
A smile of beatitude spread over Edward's face under the influence of her gaze, and he answered: "To tell the truth, Nellie, I have been a little anxious about my future, but I guess it will be all right."
"Of course it will be all right," she said, and inviting him to be seated, she asked him if he would not like to become an actor.