“It is,” said Montague, looking at him in perplexity.
“You don't remember me, do you?” said the other.
“I must confess that I do not,” was the answer.
“I am Colonel Cole.”
But Montague only knitted his brows in greater perplexity. “Colonel Cole?” he repeated.
“You were too young to remember me,” the other said. “I have been at your house a dozen times. I was in your father's brigade.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Montague. “I beg your pardon.”
“Don't mention it, don't mention it,” said the other, taking a seat beside him. “It was really extraordinary that I should recall you. And how is your brother? Is he in New York?”
“He is,” said Montague.
“And your mother? She is still living, I trust?”