Just then Humphrey looked up. There was just a moment—what was it?—a turn of the face; a look in the eyes, that made the doctor start.
"Heavens!" he thought. "He's exactly like his mother!"
Dick finished. John Haveril walked over to the piano before he got up.
"Mister," he said, "I like it. I find it cheerful. If you could see your way, now, to look in upon us of an evening, I think you might do good to my wife, who's apt to let her spirits go down. Come and sing to us."
"I will, with pleasure. When shall I come?"
"Come to-morrow evening. Come every evening, if you like, young gentleman. My wife doesn't care for the theatres much. If we could sit quiet at home, with a little lively talk and a little singing, she would like it ever so much better. You and Molly know each other, it appears. Come to dinner to-morrow, and see how you like us."
The party broke up. Sir Humphrey was left alone with the doctor.
"Stay for a cigarette." Sir Robert rang the bell. "I hope you liked the dinner and the wine."
"Both, Sir Robert, were beyond and above all praise. An artistic dinner is so rare!"
"It was thrown away upon some of my guests. However, if you will come another day, you shall meet a more distinguished company. I did not understand, Sir Humphrey, until this evening, the very strong resemblance you bear to your mother."