“He has the ability to strike twelve, but not to strike it often,” said Fowler.  “However, all his models in that place striking twelve made it easier for him.  His work was good, and I think it will be heard from.  He had some good tea, and a tea-kettle, and he made us a cup, and we talked over the home news, Dodge and I and two other gentlemen and three ladies of the party.  You see, Dodge was comparatively fresh from home.  He had only been quartered there about a month.”

“Yes,” said Carroll.

“He spoke of seeing you quite recently.  He said he had had a studio the summer before in Hillfield, where I believe you were living at the time.”  Nothing could have excelled the smoothness and even sweetness of Fowler’s tone and manner; nothing could have excelled the mercilessness of his blue eyes beneath rather heavy lids, and the lines of his fine mouth.

“Yes, he did have a studio there,” assented Carroll.

“I believe that is quite a picturesque country about there.”

“Quite picturesque.”

“Well, Dodge did not make a mistake going so far afield, though, for, after all, his specialty is the human figure, and here it is only trees that are not altered in their contour by the fashions.  Yes, he was doing some really fine work.  There was one study of a child—­”

“He made one very good thing in Hillfield,” said Carroll, “a view from the top of a sort of half-mountain there.  I believe he sold it for a large price.”

“Well, I am glad of that,” said Fowler.  “Dodge has always been hampered in that way.  Yes, he told me all the news, and especially mentioned having lived in the same village with you.”

“Yes,” said Carroll, with the dignity of a dauntless spirit on the rack.

“I hope your wife and family are well,” said Fowler, further.

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Let me see—­you are living in New York now?”

“No, I am at present in Banbridge.”

“Banbridge?”

“In New Jersey.”

“Let me see—­your family consists of your wife and a daughter and son?”

“Two daughters and a son.  One daughter married, last September, Major Arms.”

“Arms?  Oh, I know him.  A fine man.”  Fowler regarded Carroll with a slight show of respect.  “But,” he said, “I thought—­Major Arms is nearly quite your age, is he not?”

“He is much older than Ina, but she seemed very fond of him.”

“Well, she has a fine man for a husband,” said Fowler, still with the air of respect.  “Your son is quite a boy now?”

“He is only ten.”

“Hardly more than a child.”

“My wife and son and my sister are at present in Kentucky with my wife’s aunt, Miss Dunois; only my younger daughter is with me in Banbridge.”

“Catherine Dunois?”

“Yes.”

“I used to know her very well.  She was a beauty, with the spirit of a duchess.”