The Colonel's smile was wintry; the sudden animation in his face had subsided.
"I should like to know him—if he will," he said absently. And took his leave of Ailsa Paige.
Next afternoon he came again, and lingered, though neither he nor Ailsa spoke of Berkley. And the next afternoon he reappeared, and sat silent, preoccupied, for a long time, in the peculiar hushed attitude of a man who listens. But the door-bell did not ring and the only sound in tile house was from Ailsa's piano, where she sat idling through the sunny afternoon.
The next afternoon he said:
"Does he never call on you?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Berkley."
"I—asked him," she replied, flushing faintly.
"He has not come, then?"
"Not yet. I suppose—business——"