"Well, the new Lady Ardayre looks young enough and of a health to have ten sons!"
"Y-es," Denzil acquiesced in a tentative tone.
"Not so?" Verisschenzko glanced up surprised, and then gave his attention to the waiter who had brought some Burgundy and was pouring it out into his glass.
"Not so you would say?"
"I don't know, I have never seen her—but in the family it is whispered that John—poor devil—he had an accident hunting two or three years ago. However, it may not any of it be true—here, let us drink to the Ardayre son!"
"To the Ardayre son!" and Verisschenzko filled his friend's glass with the decanted wine and they both drank together.
"Your cousin is like you," he said presently. "A fatiguing likeness, but the same height and make—and voice—strange things these family reproductions of an exact type. I have no family, as you know—we are of the people, arisen by trade to riches. Could I go beyond my immediate parents, could I know cousins and uncles and brothers, should I find this same peculiar stamp of family among us all? Who knows? I think not."
"I suppose there is something in it. My father has told me that in the picture gallery at Ardayre they are as like as two pins the whole way down."
"The concentration upon the idea causes it. In people risen like my father and myself, we only resemble a group—a nation; if I have children they will resemble me. It is strength in the beginning when an individual rises beyond the group, which produces a type. One says 'English' to look at you, and then, if one knows, one says 'Ardayre' at once; one gets as far as 'Calmuck' with me, that is all, but in years to come it will have developed into 'Verisschenzko.'"
"How you study things, Stépan; you are always putting new ideas into my head whenever I see you. Life would be just a routine, for all the joy of sport, if one did not think. I am going to finish my soldiering this autumn and stand for Parliament. It seems waste of time now, with no wars in prospect, sticking to it; I want a vaster field."