"You seem struck by the expression," said Griggs.
"I am. Drink, man, drink!" added Dalrymple, suddenly, in a different tone. "There's no time to be lost if we mean to drink enough to hurt us before those beggars go to bed."
"Never fear. They will be up all night. Not that it is a reason for wasting time, as you say."
He drank his glass and watched Dalrymple as the latter did likewise, with that deliberate intention which few but Scotchmen can maintain on such occasions. The wine might have been poured into a quicksand, for any effect it had as yet produced.
"Those race-characteristics of families are very curious," continued Griggs, thoughtfully.
"Are they?" Dalrymple looked at him suspiciously.
"Very. Especially voices. They run in families, like resemblance of features."
"So they do," answered the other, thoughtfully. "So they do."
He had of late years got into the habit of often repeating such short phrases, in an absent-minded way.
"Yes," said Griggs. "I noticed Donna Francesca's voice, the first time I ever heard it. It is one of those voices which must be inherited. I am sure that all her family have spoken as she does. It reminds me of something—of some one—"