Stafford's heart warmed at his father's greeting; indeed it would have
been a very callous heart if it had not; for the emotion of genuine
affection shone in Sir Stephen's brilliant eyes, and rang in his
musical voice. Stafford was all the more impressed and touched, because
the emotion was unusual, or rather, the expression of it.

This is a "casual" age, in which a man parts from or meets his
relations and friends with the real or assumed indifference which is
ordained by fashion. It is bad form to display one's affection, even
for the woman one loves, excepting in extreme seclusion and privacy. If
you meet your dearest chum who has just come out of the Transvaal War
by the skin of his teeth, it is not permitted you to say more than:
"Ah--er--how d'ye do. Got back, then, old man?" and at parting from
one's nearest relative, perhaps for the remainder of his life, one must
hide the grief that racks the heart, with an enquiry as to whether he
has got a comfortable berth and has remembered his umbrella.

But Sir Stephen was evidently not ashamed of his pleasure and delight
at the sight of his son, and he wrung his hand and looked him up and
down with an affectionate and proud scrutiny.

"You're looking fit, Stafford, very fit! By George, I--I believe you've
grown! And you've got--uglier than ever!"