“I don’t find him unbearably vulgar. He seems a kind-hearted man, but I am unintentionally deceiving you. He is over forty years old, Roger.”
“Well, men of forty, and men of fifty, fancy girls of half their age.”
“Fancy them, yes, but he has no intention of falling in love with Berty. He is simply charmed with her as a companion.”
“It’s a dangerous companionship,” grumbled Roger.
“Not so—they quarrel horribly,” and Grandma laughed enjoyably over some reminiscences.
“Quarrel, do they?”
“Yes, Roger—my theory is that that man is too hard worked. Fagged out when he leaves his office, he is beset by petitioners for this thing and that thing. At home I fancy he has little peace, for his mother and sisters are ambitious socially, and urge him to attend various functions for which he has no heart. Unexpectedly he has found a place of refuge here, and a congenial playfellow in Berty. I think he really has to put a restraint upon himself to keep from coming oftener.”
“This is Jimson in a new light,” said Roger, listening attentively.
“In River Street,” continued Grandma, “he is free. No one comes to find him here. He has plenty of excitement and amusement if Berty is about. If she is out, he sits and talks to me by the hour.”
“To you—” said Roger. “I should not think he would have anything in common with a lady like you.”