A spare man, without an ounce of superfluous flesh, straight as a rod, and having an air of command, with keen grey eyes, close-cropped hair turning white, a clean-shaven face except where a heavy moustache covered a firm-set mouth--one recognised in him a retired army man of rank, a colonel at least, it might be a general; and the bronze on his face suggested long Indian service.

But he might have been dressed in Rob Roy tartan, or been a naval officer in full uniform, for all Carmichael knew.

A hundred thousand faces pass before your eyes and are forgotten, mere physical impressions; you see one, and it is in your heart for ever, as you saw it the first time.

Wavy black hair, a low, straight forehead, hazel eyes with long eyelashes, a perfectly-shaped Grecian nose, a strong mouth, whose upper lip had a curve of softness, a clear-cut chin with one dimple, small ears set high in the head, and a rich creamy complexion--that was what flashed upon Carmichael as he turned from the retrievers.

He was a man so unobservant of women that he could not have described a woman's dress to save his life or any other person's; and now that he is married--he is a middle-aged man now and threatened with stoutness--it is his wife's reproach that he does not know when she wears her new spring bonnet for the first time.