“Are you a friend of Miss Van Arsdale?”
“I could hardly say so much. A friend of her family, rather. She would remember me, I am sure. And, in any case, she would know my name. Where did you say she lived?”
“I don’t think I said.”
“Mystery-making!” The big man’s gruffness had a suggestion of amusement in it. “But of course it would be simple enough to find out from town.”
“See here, Mr. Vanney, Miss Van Arsdale is still something of an invalid—”
“After all these years,” interposed the other, in the tone of one who ruminates upon a marvel.
“—and I happen to know that it isn’t well for—that is, she doesn’t care to see strangers, particularly from New York.”
The old man stared. “Are you a gentleman?” he asked with abrupt surprise.
“A gentleman?” repeated Banneker, taken aback.
“I beg your pardon,” said the visitor earnestly. “I meant no offense. You are doubtless quite right. As for any intrusion, I assure you there will be none.”