"Yes," she said, so simply that the Colonel's eyes turned directly toward her, lingered, then became fixed on the sunlit damask folds behind her.
"What did you like about Mr. Berkley, Ailsa?"
She considered.
"I-don't know--exactly."
"Is he cultivated?"
"Why, yes-I suppose so."
"Is he well bred?"
"Oh, yes; only-" she searched mentally-"he is not-may I say, conventional? formal?"
"It is an age of informality," observed Colonel Arran, carefully tracing out each separate grape in the horn of plenty.
Ailsa assented; spoke casually of something else; but when Colonel Arran brought the conversation around again to Berkley, she in nowise seemed reluctant.
"He is unusually attractive," she said frankly; "his features, at moments, are almost beautiful. I sometimes wonder whether he resembles his mother. Was she beautiful?"
"Yes."
"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."
"Why?"
She shook her head:
"I believe he-I know he must be in painfully straightened circumstances."
"I have heard so," nodded Colonel Arran.
"Oh, he certainly is!" she said with decision. "He lost everything in the panic, and he lives in a most wretched neighbourhood, and he hasn't any business except a very little now and then. It made me quite unhappy," she added naively.
"And you find him personally agreeable?"
"Yes, I do. I didn't at first-" She checked herself-"I mean I did at the very first-then I didn't-then I did again, then I-didn't-" The delicate colour stole into her cheeks; she lifted her wineglass, looked into it pensively, set it back on the table. "But I understand him better now, I think."
"What, in him, do you understand better now?"
"I-don't-know."
"Is he a better kind of a man than you thought him at first?"
"Y-es. He has it in him to be better, I mean... . Yes, he is a better man than I thought him-once."
"And you like him--"
"Yes, I do. Colonel Arran."
"Admire him?"
She flushed up. "How do you mean?"
"His qualities?"
"Oh... . Yes, he has qualities."
"Admirable?"
"He is exceedingly intelligent."
"Intellectual?"
"I don't exactly know. He pretends to make fun of so many things. It is not easy to be perfectly sure what he really believes; because he laughs at almost everybody and everything. But I am quite certain that he really has beliefs."
"Religious?"
She looked grave. "He does not go to church."
"Does he-does he strike you as being-well, say, irresponsible-perhaps I may even say reckless?"
She did not answer; and Colonel Arran did not ask again. He remained silent so long that she presently drifted off into other subjects, and he made no effort to draw her back.
But later, when he took his leave, he said in his heavy way:
"When you see Mr. Berkley, say to him that Colonel Arran remembers him... . Say to him that it would be my-pleasure-to renew our very slight acquaintance."
"He will be glad, I know," she said warmly.
"Why do you think so?"