“I mean what is your opinion of my respected dad?  You must have one by this time.  You generally have one on most subjects and you’ve been looking at that picture for at least five minutes.”

“Have I?  I beg your pardon; I didn’t realize.  The picture interested me.  I have never seen your father, have I?  No, of course I haven’t.  But it almost seems as if I had.  Perhaps I have seen someone who looks like him.”

“Shouldn’t wonder.  Myself, for instance.”

“Of course.  That was stupid of me, wasn’t it?  He looks like an interesting man, one who has had experiences.”

“He has.  Dad doesn’t talk about himself much, even to me, but he had some hard rubs before he reached the smooth places.  Had to fight his way, I guess.”

“He looks as if he had.  But he got his way in the end, I should imagine.  He doesn’t look like one who gives up easily.”

“He isn’t.  Pretty stubborn sometimes, Dad is, but a brick to me, just the same.”

“Was your mother an Eastern woman?”

“No.  She was a Westerner, from California.  Dad was married twice.  His first wife came from New England somewhere, I believe.  I didn’t know there had been another wife until I was nearly fifteen years old, and then I found it out entirely by accident.  She was buried in another town, you see.  I saw her name first on the gravestone and it made an impression on me because it was so odd and old-fashioned—­’Patience, wife of Edwin Smith.’  I only mention this to show you how little Dad talks about himself, but it was odd I should find it out that way, wasn’t it?  But there!  I don’t suppose you’re interested in the Smith genealogy.  I apologize.  I never think of discussing my family affairs with anyone but you, not even Sam.  But you—­well, somehow I seem to tell you everything.  I wonder why?”

“Perhaps because I ask too many questions.”

“No, it isn’t that.  It is because you act as if you really cared to have me talk about my own affairs.  I never met a girl before that did.  Now, I want to ask you about that club business.  There’s going to be the deuce and all to pay in that if I’m not careful.  Have you thought it over?  What would you do if you were I?”

The matter in question was a somewhat delicate and complicated one, dealing with the admission or rejection of a certain fellow to one of the Harvard societies.  There was a strong influence working to get him in and, on the other hand, there were some very good objections to his admission.  Crawford, president of the club and one of its most influential members, was undecided what to do.  He had explained the case to Mary upon the occasion of his most recent visit to the Pinckney Street house, and had asked her advice.  She had taken time for consideration, of course—­she was the old Mary-’Gusta still in that—­and now the advice was ready.

“It seems to me,” she said, “that I should try to settle it like this.”