partner.

"Do you know who that is--the man at the other side of the table?" I
asked.

Old Lord Armour looked across and answered with an amiable smile. "It is
the author the world is talking of most in these days, and the talking
is no new thing. It's Mr. Hector MacNairn."

No one but myself could tell how glad I was. It seemed so right that
he should be the man who had understood the deeps of a poor, passing
stranger woman's woe. I had so loved that quiet baring of his head! All
at once I knew I should not be afraid of him. He would understand that I
could not help being shy, that it was only my nature, and that if I said
things awkwardly my meanings were better than my words. Perhaps I
should be able to tell him something of what his books had been to me.
I glanced through the flowers again--and he was looking at me! I could
scarcely believe it for a second. But he was. His eyes--his wonderful
eyes--met mine. I could not explain why they were wonderful. I think
it was the clearness and understanding in them, and a sort of great
interestedness. People sometimes look at me from curiosity, but they do
not look because they are really interested.

I could scarcely look away, though I knew I must not be guilty of
staring. A footman was presenting a dish at my side. I took something
from it without knowing what it was. Lord Armour began to talk kindly.
He was saying beautiful, admiring things of Mr. MacNairn and his work.
I listened gratefully, and said a few words myself now and then. I was
only too glad to be told of the great people and the small ones who were
moved and uplifted by his thoughts.