"Twenty-five," said Anthony.
"At that age your grandfather was master of a ship voyaging half across the world," said Charles, "God was in the same mood when he fashioned you two." He looked for another space, and then added, "Yes, they should have called you after him."
Emerging from the surprise, he shook Anthony's hand with great warmth.
"I'm greatly pleased," said he, his face a shining proof of it; "I'm amazingly pleased. I had no thought that such a pleasure as this awaited me. So your father and mother are both dead." He nodded at his nephew wistfully. "Both dead and gone. And you left alone, and I never so much as sending you a line of writing."
"These things escape one," said Anthony; "especially when they happen so far away."
"A brother is a brother, no matter what the distance; and you were of my own blood. There was never a time when I did not hold your mother as the most beautiful and best of women; there was no reason why all these years should have gone by, and I holding my tongue; no reason at all."
They sat down.
"Have you been in the city long?" asked Charles.
"Less than a week. I inquired here for you, but learned you were away."
"And you've had a devil of a dull time, I know, going about in strange places."