“After two or three years in Japan,” rejoined Rhoda, with a slight raising of the eyebrows.
“He is about three-and-thirty, and before he left England I think he showed possibilities of future wisdom. Of course I disapprove of him, and, if necessary, shall let him understand that quite as plainly as before. But there’s no harm in seeing if he has learnt to behave himself.”
Everard Barfoot received an invitation to dine. It was promptly accepted, and on the evening of the appointment he arrived at half-past seven. His cousin sat alone in the drawing-room. At his entrance she regarded him with keen but friendly scrutiny.
He had a tall, muscular frame, and a head of striking outline, with large nose, full lips, deep-set eyes, and prominent eyebrows. His hair was the richest tone of chestnut; his moustache and beard—the latter peaking slightly forward—inclined to redness. Excellent health manifested itself in the warm purity of his skin, in his cheerful aspect, and the lightness of his bearing. The lower half of his forehead was wrinkled, and when he did not fix his look on anything in particular, his eyelids drooped, giving him for the moment an air of languor. On sitting down, he at once abandoned himself to a posture of the completest ease, which his admirable proportions made graceful. From his appearance one would have expected him to speak in rather loud and decided tones; but he had a soft voice, and used it with all the discretion of good breeding, so that at times it seemed to caress the ear. To this mode of utterance corresponded his smile, which was frequent, but restrained to the expression of a delicate, good-natured irony.
“No one had told me of your return,” were Miss Barfoot’s first words as she shook hands with him.
“I fancy because no one knew. You were the first of my kinsfolk to whom I wrote.”
“Much honour, Everard. You look very well.”
“I am glad to be able to say the same of you. And yet I hear that you work harder than ever.”
“Who is the source of your information about me?”
“I had an account of you from Tom, in a letter that caught me at Constantinople.”