Besides, she was nearly thirty-eight, and a woman of thirty-eight might certainly be trusted to make a friend of a man of forty-five.
With this thought, over which the memory of Arthur brooded benevolently, in her mind, she said warmly: "It will make so much difference to me, too, having a real friend in New York." He turned to her with a start.

"Do you mean that I could make a difference to you ?" "The greatest difference, of course," she rejoined brightly, eager to convince him of his importance in her life.

"I can't tell you--you would never understand how lonely I get at times, and now with the children away it is worse than ever--the loneliness, I mean, and the feeling that there isn't anybody one could turn to in trouble." For a minute he appeared to ponder this deeply.

"Well, you could always come to me if you needed anything," he answered at last, and she felt intuitively that for some reason he was distrustful either of himself or of her.

"I am not here very much of my time, but whenever I am, I am entirely at your service." "But that's only half of it." She was determined to reassure him.