I sat back in the chair. He looked away from me and stared silently into the empty fireplace, lost in his own thoughts. I was afraid to make a move in case I disturbed him. The voices of Mrs. Donahue and Kathleen drifted up from the kitchen and the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven times. He broke the silence by ringing again for Kathleen, signaling for more drinks. It occurred to me that he’d probably been drinking earlier that evening. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was determined to get drunk. When Kathleen came in, as before, she gave me a curious look, this time raising an eyebrow. I didn’t blame her; it must have been very odd to see the master of the house and myself sitting there like an old married couple. I had not finished my first soda water, and I tried to wave away the glass she held.

“If it ’twas myself, I’d be having a whiskey,” she whispered as, ignoring my signal, she set down the glass.

Aidan O’Hanlon, however, had no such reluctance. He raised his glass with gusto and, with each swallow, his tongue loosened more. It was then he began talking again, this time about himself, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I judged that he would not expect any more talk out of me, and I was right.

Some of the things he told me I already knew about from Mrs. Donahue. He explained he’d been born in New York and that his father was a banker, that his mother had left the family when he was young, and his two brothers had followed their father into banking. So, he was the black sheep, I thought. I was dying to ask a million questions but didn’t dare.

As he talked, I got the impression he had forgotten I was in the room. I fought back the drowsiness that had suddenly come over me. I wanted to hear every word he said. I was almost giddy that he was sharing so much with me, yet at the same time I felt like a guilty intruder, prying into his private thoughts.

“And then I met Mary. She was so beautiful. . . .”

My ears pricked up as he mentioned her name. I was very curious about her. From the photos I had seen of her on a side table in the library, she was indeed beautiful, and the way Mrs. Donahue spoke of her, she could have been a saint. The truth was that I was a bit jealous of her.

He looked up at me as if suddenly remembering I was in the room.