Ernie Cronk moved away. They might have heard him chuckling softly to himself.
"Let me see, it's five years, isn't it?" went on the Colonel suavely. He did not appear to resent David's omission. "You've changed considerably. The mustache improves you, I think."
His voice was as oily as ever, his eyes and his nose as sheep-like. Something arose in David's throat, bringing a certain hoarseness to his voice.
"Time has not affected you, Colonel," he retorted.
"So they tell me," said the other. "Are you waiting to meet some one?"
"Yes," said David, and nothing more.
The Colonel twirled his stick. "My daughter is arriving by the four-twenty," he announced. "Beastly old station, this. What a godsend a destructive fire would prove if it took it from one end to the other."
"Your daughter is coming?" asked David. The note of eagerness and relief in his voice caused the other's eyes to narrow suddenly.
"You've met her, I believe," he said, studying David's face.
"Once,—at the Springs."