They were of the same height, and there was a strong resemblance between them, though the boy was much darker in colouring; with chestnut hair and dark grey eyes. His face was less delicately shaped, heavier, but had the same self-contained look; the eyes, under heavy lids, looked slumbering and secret.
Mary had grown more slender; her tall figure was girlish in line. Her auburn hair was less bright in colour, but as thick as ever, without a touch of grey. She wore it in the same fashion, parted and drawn down over her forehead, which now showed faint horizontal lines, the only mark of age in her calm face. Her handsome dress followed the fashion but a distance, with fewer frills and more amplitude. Her beauty had stood the test of time; the slight hollows under her high cheek-bones, her ivory pallor, only emphasized the fine modelling of her face.
"There's a telegram," said Jim.
He took it from a table in the hall. Mary opened and read it, standing at the foot of the stairs.
"From your father. He won't be back tonight—detained on business."
A look of relief crossed Jim's face.
"Well—it must be dinner-time," he said.
In fact the tall clock on the landing began to strike the hour of six.
"I'll be right down," said Mary. "Call the boys in."