Their father--one may be excused for almost forgetting him--was a man of not more than medium height, but very solidly built, and like all his boys, bullet-headed. His round chubby face was much bronzed, his auburn hair and bushy beard of the same colour preserved to him a youthful appearance, which was aided by the remarkably innocent and soft-tempered look of his eyes. He was a man of weak will and great bodily strength; his sons had a string of stories to illustrate the latter--the former would perhaps have been best discoursed upon by Mrs. Stratton. A man of extreme simplicity in his habits, and abnormally shy; with men he was by no means at his ease till they became very old acquaintances, and with women ease never came to him at all. The defect was the more painful owing to his very limited _moyens_ in the matter of conversation; had it not been for the existence of weather, the colonel would, under ordinary circumstances, have preserved the silence for which nature intended him. Of Mrs. Clarendon in particular he had a kind of fear, though at the same time he was attracted to her by her unfailing charm; he knew she sought opportunities of teasing him, and, though it cost him much perspiration, he did not dislike the torment. With her he would have been brought to talk if with any one; a fearful fascination often drew him to her side, only to find, when he valorously opened his lips, that a roguish smile had robbed him of every conception of what he was going to say. “Well, colonel?” she began, on a typical occasion, one morning when they were alone together for a few minutes. The colonel turned his eyes to the windows, coughed, and, looking uneasily round, observed that it was astonishingly warm for the season. “It is,” assented Isabel gravely. Whereupon, as if struck by the similarity of their sentiments, he looked into her face, and repeated his assertion with more emphasis. “Astonishingly warm for January. You find it so? So do I. Yes, you really notice it?” “I have been thinking over it since I got up,” said Isabel. “I wonder how many degrees we have in this room?” With the delight of a shy man who has found something definite to speak of, Colonel Stratton at once started up to go to the thermometer which hung in the window; a half-suppressed laugh made him stop and turn round. “You don’t really care to know,” he said, flushing up to the eyes. “That’s one of your jokes, Mrs. Clarendon. Ha, ha! Good!” He stood before her, desperately nibbling both ends of his moustache--he had acquired much skill in the habit of getting them both into his mouth at the same time. “Well, colonel?” “You are in a--a frisky mood this morning, Mrs. Clarendon,” he burst forth, laughing painfully. “A what kind of mood?” “I beg your pardon. I should have chosen a better word,” he exclaimed, in much confusion. “It really is wonderfully warm for the season--you notice it?” “Colonel, I assure you I notice it.” Fear at length overcame fascination.