“Try it,” said Jane, “it’s a good one. It’s still wet, because I just picked it up. Mr. Webster has millions, and he said I could take all I wanted. Here, I’ll dry it for you if you don’t want to get your handkerchief all wet.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Sheridan, “I don’t believe I care for it just now.”
Another silence. Then as if the idea had just occurred to her, Jane said almost with alarm,
“You don’t mind my trespassing, do you, Mr. Sheridan?”
“How did you know my name?” he asked in surprise, and at the same time, feeling a trifle flattered. Like most people he was vain enough to be pleased when anyone seemed to know who he was without being told.
“Oh, I recognized you.”
“Recognized me? When did you—”
“By your stick. Miss Lily said that you had a stick, and that you were youngish.”
“Oh.” A brief pause, during which Mr. Sheridan did not look displeased. Jane, who never missed a change of expression, felt that she had hit upon a happy thread of conversation, and she ventured to commence another apple.
“Who is Miss Lily?” inquired Mr. Sheridan, forgetting that he was not in the least interested in hearing about his fellow creatures—especially the feminine ones.