The older man knew perfectly well that he was being a little laughed at,
for his absorption in gladioli, and not minding it at all, laughed
himself, peaceably. "It would take a great deal more than a little of
Vincent's fun," he thought, "to make me feel anything but peaceable
here." He was quite used to having people set him down as a harmless,
worn-out old duffer, and he did not object to this conception of his
character. It made a convenient screen behind which he could carry on
his own observation and meditation uninterrupted.

"Here comes somebody," said Vincent and turned his quick eyes toward the
door, with an eager expression of attention. He really _must_ have been
stumped by something in the room, thought Mr. Welles, and meant to
figure it out from the owners of the house themselves.

The tall, quiet-looking lady with the long dark eyes, who now came in
alone, excusing herself for keeping them waiting, must of course be Mrs.
Crittenden, Mr. Welles knew. He wished he could get to his feet as
Vincent did, looking as though he had got there by a bound or a spring
and were ready for another. He lifted himself out of his arm-chair with
a heaviness he knew seemed all the heavier by contrast, took the slim
hand Mrs. Crittenden offered him, looked at her as hard as he dared, and
sank again into the arm-chair, as she motioned him to do. He had had a
long experience in judging people quickly by the expression of their
faces, and in that short length of time he had decided thankfully that
he was really, just as he had hoped, going to like his new neighbor as
much as all the rest of it. He gave her a propitiatory smile, hoping she
might like him a little, too, and hoping also that she would not mind
Vincent. Sometimes people did, especially nice ladies such as evidently
Mrs. Crittenden was. He observed that as usual Vincent had cut in ahead
of everybody else, had mentioned their names, both of them, and was