He had reined himself in with a grip so tight that the only evidence of suppressed excitement was the feverish, steady gleam in his eyes. He talked of Mrs. St. Clair, of Father Temple, of Trix Stapleton, whom he should see for a moment in New York.
During a brief lull in the conversation, Eglah said:
"I found your mother's portrait, which you asked me to look at. In an extraordinary degree you resemble her."
"Thank you. That is a compliment I value. It is indeed a pity she could not have endowed me with the patience and amiability that so endeared her to all who knew her."
Very soon the moment came for parting words, and she went down to the carriage step, leaving him with the servants clustered in the hall, but Amos Lea was not visible. Mr. Herriott handed Eglah to the back seat, and for a moment stooped to speak to and pat the head of each dog. As he entered the carriage and seated himself opposite his companion, slamming the door as signal to the coachman, the housemaid threw up her hands and ran down the steps.
"Please, sir, Mr. Herriott, may I speak to you?"
He put out his head.
"What is the matter?"
"The silk jacket, sir. You told me to carry it to Mr. Lea, but, sir, I can't find it. You must have put it in your trunk."
"No, I wore it this morning after the trunks were locked and strapped."