“I don’t wonder you didn’t place me at once. Ten years makes a lot of difference at my advanced age. But you don’t look a bit changed. I recognized you straight off, as soon as I saw you.”
“What age are you now?” asked Sir Clinton.
“About twenty-three,” Cecil replied. “Maurice is twenty-five, and Joan’s just on the edge of twenty-one.”
“I suppose she must be,” Sir Clinton confirmed.
A thought seemed to cross his mind.
“By the way, this masked ball, I take it, is for Joan’s coming-of-age?”
“You got an invitation? Right! I’ve nothing to do with that part of the business.” Then, answering Sir Clinton’s inquiry: “Yes, that’s so. She wanted a spree of some sort; and she generally gets what she wants, you know. You’ll hardly know her when you see her. She’s shot up out of all recognition from the kid you knew before you went away.”
“She used to be pretty as a school-girl.”
“Oh, she hasn’t fallen off in that direction. You must come to this show of hers. She’ll be awfully pleased if you do. She looks on you as a kind of unofficial uncle, you know.”
Sir Clinton’s expression showed that he appreciated the indirect compliment.