"But that's an everyday amusement of his, so I've heard you say."
"Uncle, I'm going to."
The needles stopped for one brief moment; then they tapped on again.
"Well, well! Almost a pity you didn't wait a little longer."
"I know what's in your head—Myles Stapledon."
"He was. I confess to it."
"If only you could see his photograph, dearest. Oh so cold, hard, inscrutable!"
"I remember him as a boy—self-contained and old-fashioned I grant you. But sober-minded youths often take life too seriously at the start. There's a sort of men—the best sort—who grow younger as they grow older. Mrs. Loveys told me that the picture he sent you makes a handsome chap of Myles."
"Handsome—yes, very—like something carved out of stone."
The blind man was silent for a moment; then he said—