Truth to say, Richard Armour was not so young as he seemed a few months
before. His shoulders were a little stooped, he was greyer about the
temples. The little bit of cynicism which had appeared in that remark
about the care of the child showed also in the lines of his mouth; yet
his eyes had the same old true, honest look. But a man cannot be hit in
mortal places once or twice in his life without its being etched on his
face or dropped like a pinch of aloe from his tongue.

Still they sat and talked much longer, Frank showing better than when his
brother came, Richard gone grey and tired. At last Richard rose and
motioned towards the window. "See, Frank," he said, "it is morning."
Then he went and lifted the blind. The grey, unpurged air oozed on the
glass. The light was breaking over the tops of the houses. A crossing-
sweeper early to his task, or holding the key of the street, went
pottering by, and a policeman glanced up at them as he passed. Richard
drew down the curtain again.

"Dick," said Frank suddenly, "you look old. I wonder if I have changed
as much?"

Six months before, Frank Armour would have said hat his brother looked
young.

"Oh, you look young enough, Frank," was the reply. "But I am a good deal
older than I was five years ago. . . Come, let us go to bed."