He swung round to his old friend with the glass leaping out of his eye.
“Caroline,” he cried, “a throwback!”
That old woman gazed through her spectacles at the occupant of the sofa. Miss Perry, still at Slocum Magna, was debating seriously whether a fourth slice of bread and jam was within the range of practical politics.
“Cheriton,” said Caroline, coolly, “I believe you are right.”
Surprise and enthusiasm began to work great havoc with the amateur of the fine arts.
“Upon my word,” said he, “it is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen in my life. A pretty trick of old Mother Nature’s.”
“Don’t be a coxcomb, Cheriton,” said Caroline, warningly.
“A perfect throwback!” said that amateur.
Once more his gaze was brought to bear on the distracting occupant of the sofa, whose hair was the color of daffodils and whose eyes reminded him of the sky of Italy. He approached her with an empressement that was tremendous.
“I have no need to ask,” said he, “whether the famous duchess is a kinswoman.”