"Ah, that was a loss, a great loss—I remember her, a strong woman, impressive.... And your father—he goes on with his work?"
"Oh, yes," Mary answered with astonishment.
Of course he went on with his work, why shouldn't he?... But it came to her with a shock that her father was really an old man, that people thought of him as old.
"I don't know what this town would do without Father," she said quickly. "People depend on him—"
She gazed pointedly and with a certain defiance at old Mr. Carlin, who waved any possible comparison aside with a smile and a word of hearty commendation of Dr. Lowell; and went on to enquire about other old residents of the town, showing an accurate memory. A third time he refilled his glass, and that emptied the decanter. The whiskey had not the least visible effect on him. His hand was as steady, his eye and speech as clear and unmoved, as Mary's own. She heard the clock strike eleven, then the half hour, but still he chatted on, and she was aware that she was entertained by him. Yes, he was an amusing, though a scandalous old man; and conducted himself with propriety, even grace, though all the time drinking whiskey as if it were water.
At length he spoke of his grandchildren. Among other information he had acquired this, that they were three in number and all boys. Now he politely asked their names. Mary repeated them.
"Timothy?" he questioned with surprise.
"Yes, we named him after you," said Mary gravely.
"After me!"