Ralph Webster laughed, and then the conversation changed. But before he left Pembridge Terrace for the night he took an opportunity of speaking to Miss Margaret Webster alone.
“Aunt Margaret,” he said, “what is Mr. John Temple like who married your pretty guest?”
“Good-looking; yes, I should say very good-looking indeed,” answered Miss Webster; “he has such a pleasant expression, and nice gray eyes.”
“Gray eyes,” repeated Webster, thoughtfully; he was remembering Miss Kathleen Weir’s description of her husband.
“Yes, gray eyes with dark lashes. But Ralph, my dear, if you would like to see it, I have a photograph of him?”
“I should like to see it,” answered her nephew; and Miss Webster at once rose and produced her old-fashioned photograph book.
“This is our dear father,” she said, turning to one page, and pointing out a mild-faced old gentleman in clerical garb; “and this, Ralph, is your dear father—ah! looking at this book always makes me a little sad, and brings back old times.”
“Yes,” said Ralph Webster, glancing somewhat impatiently at his grandfather and father; “but where is this wonderful Mr. Temple?”
Miss Webster then turned over several more pages of her book; pages where she and Miss Eliza were represented as young girls, then as young women in costumes of other days. Finally, she pointed to the smiling, good-looking face of a young man.