The lighthouse-keeper laughed, so naturally that the younger man was gratified. Polite disbelief may be a compliment.
"An idler, eh? You do not strike me as properly classed."
"It's the fact, nevertheless. My grandfather was pleased to invest a few dollars in real estate on the sheep farm where Manhattan Avenue now stands. My uncle has half; my mother had the other half."
"Are both of your parents dead?"
"Yes, years ago. Lost at sea, too, on my father's yacht."
"What a terrible thing!"
"It must have been something like that. I was only six years old at the time. My uncle lost his wife and child, too, when the Esmeralda went down. It nearly killed him. I never thought he would marry again, but I suppose he's tired of being alone."
"Probably. By the way, now that you mention it, Mrs. Vansittart wished to see me yesterday. I could not spare a moment so I sent her a civil message. She told Constance that she thought she knew me."
"Hardly likely," smiled Pyne, "if you have passed nearly the whole of your life in lighthouses."
"I did not quite mean to convey that impression. I knew a man of her late husband's name, many years ago."