"I thought she must have been. He resembles her, does he not?"
"Yes."
"His father was—is—" She hesitated, looked curiously at Colonel
Arran, then smiled.
"There was something I never thought of when I first met Mr. Berkley, but now I understand why his features seemed to me not entirely unfamiliar. I don't know exactly what it is, but there seems to be something about him that recalls you."
Colonel Arran sat absolutely still, his heavy hand gripping the horn of plenty, his face so gray that it was almost colourless.
Ailsa, glancing again at his profile, saw nothing now in it resembling Berkley; and, as he made no response, thought him uninterested. But when again she would have changed the subject, the Colonel stirred, interrupting:
"Does he seem—well?"
"Well?" she repeated. "Oh, yes."
"He—seems well . . . and in good spirits? Contented? Is he that type of young man? Happy?"
"I don't think he is really very happy, though he is cheerful and—and amusing. I don't see how he can be very light-hearted."