“S-she seems to enjoy it,” I murmured.

As I looked at him, my face grew hot and I hoped he could not see me blushing. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I was once again aware of his good looks. He looked particularly well tonight, dressed in evening clothes, with a dark jacket, a shimmering white shirt and a white bow tie. He wrestled the bow tie from his collar and threw it on a nearby table.

“Gosh, awful things,” he said. “They’d be after strangling the life out of you.”

This was the first time I had heard even a hint of an Irish accent from him. I knew he had been born in New York, but that his late wife was from Ireland. Perhaps some of her brogue had rubbed off on him. He took off his jacket, removed his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves. I tried hard not to stare at the sprinkling of black hairs on his forearms.

“I-I’ll be going now, sir. Can I have Kathleen bring you anything?”

While I hated to leave, I was anxious to get out of the room before I made a fool of myself.

“I’ll ring for her,” he said as he sat down on a chair beside the empty fireplace and put up his feet on the fender.

“Very well,” I said. “I-I’ll be away, then.”

“No, stay.” It was not a command; more of a polite invitation. I hesitated, not knowing what to do. Just then, Kathleen came in.

“Ah, Kathleen, bring me a whiskey.” He paused. “And for you, Miss Sweeney?”

Both he and Kathleen stared at me expectantly.

“I . . . er . . . just a soda water would be grand.”

Kathleen glared at me as she disappeared out the door.

He gestured to a chair across from his. “Sit down, Miss Sweeney,” he said. “I think it’s time we got to know each other better.”

* * *

He began by asking me questions about how Lily was getting on. It was easy for me to answer because I was so excited about what Lily was learning. I leaned forward, smiling. “Even though she doesn’t speak, she devours every book I give her and writes lovely wee compositions about them,” I said, “and she shows a flair for mathematics.”

My mouth was dry after talking, and I took a gulp of soda water.

Then his questions turned to me. “I don’t know much about you, Miss Sweeney,” he said, his eyes fixed on my face. “Why don’t you tell me about your family? Do you have brothers and sisters? Did you live on a farm or in the town? What were you like in school?’ And why did you want to come to America?”

My mind raced. What was I to say? I didn’t dare give away my secret.