“How do you do?” she said, a little fluttered, but cordial, too.  “Will you come in here by the fire?  The sitting-room is so cold.”

“Thank you,” said her caller, easily, with a little inclination of his head that seemed to acknowledge her hospitality.  He put his hat, a shining, silk hat, upon the hall table, and followed her into the dining-room.  Anne found, when she turned to give him the big chair, that he had pulled off his big gloves, too, and that Diego had put a confident, small hand into his.

He sat down comfortably, a big, square-built man, with rosy color, hair that was already silvered, and a fast-silvering mustache, and keen, kind eyes as blue as Virginia’s.  In the expression of these eyes, and in the lines about his fine mouth, was that suggestion of simple friendliness and sympathy that no man, woman, or child can long resist.  Anne found herself already deciding that she liked this man.  She went on with Jinny’s small toilet, even while she wondered about her caller, and while she decided that Jim should have an overcoat of exactly this big, generous cut, and of exactly this delightful, warm-looking rough cloth, some day.

“Perhaps this is a bad hour to disturb these little people?” said the caller, smiling, but with something in his manner and in his rather deliberate and well-chosen speech, of the dignity and courtesy of an older generation.

“Oh, no, indeed!” Anne assured him.  “I’m going right on with them, you see!”

Jinny, deliciously drowsy, gave the stranger a slow yet approving smile, from the safety of Anne’s arms.  Diego went to lay a small hand upon the gentleman’s knee.

“This is my shoe,” said Diego, frankly exhibiting a worn specimen, “and Baby has shoes, too, blue ones.  And Baby cried in the night when the mirror fell down, didn’t she, mother?  And she broke her bowl, and bited on the pieces, and blood came down on her bib—­”

“All our tragedies!” laughed Anne.

“Didn’t that hurt her mouth?” said the caller, interestedly, lifting Diego into the curve of his arm.

Diego rested his golden mop comfortably against the big shoulder.

“It hurt her teef,” he said dreamily, and subsided.

As if it were quite natural that the child should be there, the gentleman eyed Anne over the little head.

“I’ve not told you my name, madam,” said he.  “I am Charles Rideout.  Not that that conveys anything to you, I suppose—?”

“But it does, as it happens!” Anne said, surprised and pleased.  “Jim—­my husband, is with the Rogers-Wiley Company, and I think they do a good deal of cement work for Rideout & Company.”

“Surely,” assented the man, “and your husband’s name is—?”

“Warriner,—­James Warriner,” Anne supplied.