As he was over fifty, his golden-brown moustache was slightly grizzled, and the hair had worn off his forehead; but he was still strikingly handsome.

He and his wife were alone.

Both their sons were in the Indian army, and their only daughter was married and lived in Yorkshire.
"We are just an old Darby and Joan," Mrs.Godfrey would say; but though she was only a year or two younger than her husband, she wore remarkably well, and still looked a comparatively young woman.
Colonel Godfrey and Malcolm were excellent friends, and in a few minutes they were strolling through the fields towards the river-bank, talking on various topics of social and political interest, while Mrs.
Godfrey returned to the house to write letters and dress for dinner.
It was not until the following afternoon that Malcolm found an opportunity of sounding Mrs.Godfrey on the subject of the Jacobis.
They were sitting in the loggia again, and the row of dark chestnut trees looked almost black against the intense blue of the sky.
A faint breeze was just stirring the leaves, and every now and then a sort of ripple of sunlight seemed to streak the sombre foliage with gold.

On the terrace there was a wealth of sunshine, and the stones felt hot to the feet.

Only under the chestnuts tiny flickering shadows seemed to dance in and out among the tree-boles.
Colonel Godfrey had just been summoned to a business interview, and for the first time that day Malcolm found himself alone with his hostess.
"Oh, by the bye," he observed rather abruptly, "there is something I want to ask you.