"No," he said; "my wife and I lived with the old folks the first year,
but that's all. Edith and Jim live with them, of course."

"I--I see," she said, the deep color still deepening as she turned
from him and saw, written upon a card before the gentleman at her
left the name, "Mr. James Sheridan, Jr." And from that moment Roscoe
had little enough cause for wondering what he ought to reply to her
disturbing coquetries.

Mr. James Sheridan had been anxiously waiting for the dazzling visitor
to "get through with old Roscoe," as he thought of it, and give a
bachelor a chance. "Old Roscoe" was the younger, but he had always
been the steady wheel-horse of the family. Jim was "steady" enough,
but was considered livelier than Roscoe, which in truth is not saying
much for Jim's liveliness. As their father habitually boasted, both
brothers were "capable, hard-working young business men," and the
principal difference between them was merely that which resulted from
Jim's being still a bachelor. Physically they were of the same type:
dark of eyes and of hair, fresh-colored and thick-set, and though
Roscoe was several inches taller than Jim, neither was of the height,
breadth, or depth of the father. Both wore young business men's
mustaches, and either could have sat for the tailor-shop lithographs
of young business men wearing "rich suitings in dark mixtures."

Jim, approving warmly of his neighbor's profile, perceived her access
of color, which increased his approbation. "What's that old Roscoe
saying to you, Miss Vertrees?" he asked. "These young married men are
mighty forward nowadays, but you mustn't let 'em make you blush."