A simple nod was Mable's answer to Ropati's question, all she cared to say on the matter unless further inquired.  His next request was much more interesting to her, and she had no problem indulging him.

"My shells!  Mr. Ropati, my collection is very large already, even though I only just started it.  I found them all along the beach right here in Whitby!  They've very pretty, lately I've been trying to find shells the same colors as my friends' eyes.  It's a lot more difficult than you'd think!"

The girl reached into some pocket of her dress - or perhaps it was a tear she turned into a pocket, given the odd placement of it - and produced a small shell with stripes of blue and yellow.  She showed it off to the man very proudly.

"This shell is for my friend Edward!  His eyes are very blue, like these stripes here.  This shell is my first for my friends, so I keep it close by for safe keeping!"

Both orphans. Both too young for this. A pocket in a place pockets usually … weren’t.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said with a polite smile.

He wondered how these kids were making it without their parents. Where their money came from. Whether they’d sink or swim.

“He must appreciate that.”

He hoped all this Edward was in it for was shells.

“How old is your friend, Mable?”

Ropati's question caused Mable to pause with a blink.  She... didn't quite know the answer to it, or why he was even asking.  Was age something that mattered very much to adults?

"I'm not entirely sure, but I can't imagine he's much older than me.  He bought me a strawberry tart!"

The taste of it was still well engraved in her memory.  Perhaps she could ask Father Brennan to take her to the bakery and they could share a tart together.  Or maybe she could take Anne, and treat her to one!  Mable wondered if Anne had ever had a tart before.  And then she wondered how old Anne was.

"I've never thought to ask how old my friends are before.  Edward's birthday was just recently, and I've got lots of friends... how old are you, Mr. Ropati?"

He bought her a strawberry tart. Ropati immediately imagined a tall, skinny, pimpled yet bearded blue-eyed man, leering down at her as he plied her with tarts and rasped ‘little girl’.

Probably not.

… Hopefully not.

“Fifty-four. Grandpa age,” he added.

Not a friend. Too old for friendship.

“Do you have somewhere to stay? It’s supposed to rain.”

It was always supposed to rain.

Fifty-four!  Grandpa age indeed.  Mable wasn't sure if she'd ever known someone so old before.  She probably has, but just not been aware.

She smiled and nodded at his question, eyeing the heavy clouds in the sky.  "I'm staying in a hotel with a boy - Edmund, he's called.  We've been together since... oh, well, for a very long time now.  Nearly a year - but anyway, yes, I have somewhere to stay, don't worry at all!"