had worn from his cradle upward. I should have known him anywhere and at
any age. It was the same dear, honest face; but to think that this giant
was little Bob! He had not gone to Eton when I saw him last; now I knew
from the sporting papers that he was up at Cambridge; but it was left to
his photograph to bring home the flight of time.

Certainly his mother would never have done so when all at once the door
opened and she stood before me, looking about thirty in the ample shadow
of a cavalier's hat. Simply but admirably gowned, as I knew she would
be, her slender figure looked more youthful still; yet in all this there
was no intent; the dry cool smile was that of an older woman, and I was
prepared for greater cordiality than I could honestly detect in the
greeting of the small firm hand. But it was kind, as indeed her whole
reception of me was; only it had always been the way of Catherine the
correspondent to make one expect a little more than mere kindness, and
of Catherine the companion to disappoint that expectation. Her
conversation needed few exclamatory points.

"Still halt and lame," she murmured over my sticks. "You poor thing, you
are to sit down this instant."

And I obeyed her as one always had, merely remarking that I was getting
along famously now.

"You must have had an awful time," continued Catherine, seating herself
near me, her calm wise eyes on mine.

"Blood-poisoning," said I. "It nearly knocked me out, but I'm glad to
say it didn't quite."