Before I ever went to Hopkins' house, he had told her all about me, and when he introduced us, he said:
"Madeline, this is the friend who says your picture talked to him."
I bowed low to the lady and tried to put myself and her at ease.
"Mrs. Hopkins, I'm afraid your husband is poking fun at me, and thinks my liver is out of order, but, really, I did imagine I saw changing expression in your eyes in that picture—in fact, I named you 'My Lady of the Eyes.'"
She laughed—with her eyes—held out her hands and made me welcome.
"That name is something like mine," said Hopkins, "I call her Talking Eyes.'"
Then Hopkins brought in his little three-year-old daughter, who immediately climbed on my knee, captured my watch, and asked:
"What oo name?"
"John," said I.
"Don, Don," she repeated; "my name Maddie."