She gazed at him.
“Oh, Dion, how you have altered!”
“Have I?”
“Tremendously.”
How well he knew the kindly glance of her honest brown eyes; a thousand times he had called it up before him in South Africa. But this was not the glance so characteristic of her. In the firelit room her eyes looked puzzled, almost wide, with a sort of startled astonishment.
“You had a lot of the boy in you still when you went away. At least, I used to think so.”
“Haven’t I any left?”
“I can’t see any. No, I think you’ve come back all man. And how tremendously burnt you are.”
“Almost black, I suppose. But I’m so accustomed to it.”
“It’s right,” she said. “Your face tells the story of what you’ve done. Robin”—she paused, then slowly she said—“Robin’s got almost a new father.”