“It is easy to guess,” she cried, “what the other term of all difficult comparisons is for men.”
“Woman, I humbly presume you to mean. Indeed, I at least might be excused if I so said. I have no sister, no cousins, indeed; no mother—now,” and he paused. “I am in truth alone in the world since after the war, when I wandered north, a pretty sorry sort of a half-educated orphan.”
“And what did you do then?” She felt agreeably the courteous deference of the young man’s manner, and liked the brief emotion of his pause as he spoke of his mother, nor less the soft Southern accent.
“Oh, I got work on a railroad as a chain-bearer, and worked up until I made a little invention, which I sold, and with the money I went to the Troy scientific school. It was pretty tough, because I had to do double work on account of my want of early training. However, I got through.”
“And then?”
“Oh, then I was employed as an engineer, and, by and by, the firm I am now in took up some of my new notions about bridge-building. I ought to ask pardon for talking about myself. I really think it was your fault.”
“I am not over-penitent. I think, with my father, that the lives of men who succeed are interesting.”
“Have I succeeded? I suppose that fellow Ellett has been indulging you all with my virtues and capacities.”
“Perhaps!” And now a look at the face would have been desirable. He said no more for a moment. Then Miss Lyndsay went on:
“You were about to say—”