"No. I don't think that was it." Iris sank down on to the cushioned window-seat and gazed thoughtfully ahead. "I think----I wonder if that last song could have any associations for him? Has he been in India?"
"I don't know." Chloe smiled faintly. "You must ask him, Iris. I suppose your father would send for him if he were ill, wouldn't he, now that Dr. Meade is really gone?"
"I suppose so." Iris spoke rather dreamily. "At first I thought he was quite old--at least forty," said the schoolgirl. "And then, when he talked to Cherry I was not really sure. I guessed he might be worried about professional things and look older than he was. And now----"
She broke off, and for a moment Chloe Carstairs made no rejoinder, though her blue, almond-shaped eyes held a slightly quizzical expression.
"And now"--she said at length--"what is your opinion now?"
"Now"--Iris spoke very slowly, and in her eyes was something of the womanly tenderness and strength whose possibility Anstice had divined--"I think he has the very saddest face I have ever seen in my life."