"Why, of course, Father; I should have known him anywhere; it is not four years since we saw him." These four years had made a great change in Miss Khayme. I had left her a girl in the awkward period of a girl's life; now she was a woman of fine presence, wholesome, good to look at. She did not resemble her father, except perhaps in a certain intellectual cast of feature. Her dark wavy tresses were in contrast with his straight black hair; her eyes were not his; her stature was greater than his. Yet there were points of resemblance. Her manner was certainly very like the Doctor's, and many times a fleeting expression was identical with, the Doctor's habitually perfect repose. She must have been clad very simply; at any rate, I cannot remember anything of her dress. I only know that it was unpretentious and charming. Her eyes were of that shade of gray which is supposed to indicate great intelligence; her complexion was between dark and fair, and betokened health. Her face was oval; her mouth a little large perhaps. She had an air of seriousness--her only striking peculiarity. One might have charged her with masculinity, but in this respect only: she was far above the average woman in dignity of manner and in consciousness of attainment. She could talk seriously of men and things. I was wishing to say something pleasant to Miss Lydia, but could only manage to tell her that she had changed wonderfully and that she had a great advantage over me in that I was the same ungainly boy she had known in Charleston. She did not reply to this, covering her silence by making me my third cup of coffee. "Lydia," said the Doctor, "you must tell Mr. Berwick something about our life in the East. You know how I dislike to speak three sentences." "With great pleasure, Father; Mr. Berwick will find that I can speak four." "Not now, my dear. I warn you, Jones, that I shall watch over you very carefully while you are with us. I am responsible to the hospital surgeon for your health, and I cannot be a party to your extinction." "How many sentences did you speak then, Father?" "It depends on how you punctuate," he replied. "Mr. Berwick," said Lydia, "Father pretends that he is not talkative, but don't you believe him. He can easily talk you to sleep." The Doctor was almost gay, that is, for the Doctor. His eyes shone. He did not cease to look at me, except when he looked at Lydia. For the time, Lydia had a severer countenance than her father's. I ate. I thanked my stars for the conversation that was covering my ignoble performance. "Doctor," I asked, pausing for breath, "is there any news of Willis?" "Willis is doing well enough. The ball has been extracted; it was only a buck-shot, as you rightly surmised." "How do you know what I surmised, Doctor?" "Willis told the surgeon of your supposition, giving you full credit for the origin of it. By the way, that was a famous bandage you gave him." "Was it the correct practice?"