Mrs. Keith sat down and picked up a miniature.
"Millicent would enjoy that picture of the hills at Arrowdale," she said. "It's near her old home in the North."
Challoner and the girl moved away down the gallery, and he showed her a large painting of gray hills and a sullen tarn, half revealed between folds of rolling vapor. Millicent was stirred to keen appreciation.
"It's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "And so full of life! One can see the mist drive by and the ripples break upon the stones. Perhaps it's because I know the tarn that I like the picture so much; but it makes one realize the rugged grandeur and the melancholy charm of the place. That is genius! Who is the painter?"
"My son," said the Colonel quietly.
Millicent saw that he was troubled, though she could not imagine the reason.
"I hardly know Captain Challoner, whom I met only once; but it is obvious that he has talent. You would rather have him a soldier?"
"Very much rather."
"But he is one! I understand that he has distinguished himself. After all, it is perhaps a mistake to think of genius as limited to one ability—music or painting, for example. Real genius, the power of understanding, is more comprehensive; the man who has it ought to be successful at whatever he undertakes."
"I'm dubious," said Challoner. "It strikes me as a rather daring theory."