“In him—in life—in everything.”
Miss Anthony, who understood as a rule, was evidently puzzled. “What kind of a difference?”
“Oh, a complete difference.” With that she had to be content.
The sense of it had first come to Campton when the bearded man, raising his lids, looked at him from far off with George’s eyes, and touched him, very feebly, with George’s hand. It was in the moment of identifying his son that he felt the son he had known to be lost to him forever.
George’s lips were moving, and the father laid his ear to them; perhaps these were last words that his boy was saying.
“Old Dad—in a motor?”
Campton nodded.
The fact seemed faintly to interest George, who continued to examine him with those distant eyes.
“Uncle Andy’s?”
Campton nodded again.