His hair was now light brown, and had a bold, almost an ardent, wave in it.  Perhaps Robin’s most marked characteristic at this time was ardor.  Occasionally the mildly inquiring expression which Dion had been touched by in the early days came to his little face.  He could be very gentle and very clinging, and was certainly sensitive.  Often imagination, in embryo as it were, was shown by his eyes.  But ardor informed and enveloped him, he swam in ardor and of ardor he was all compact.  Even the freckles which disfigured, or adorned, the bridge of his nose looked ardent.  Rosamund loved those freckles in a way she could never have explained, loved them with a strength and tenderness which issued from the very roots of her being.  To her they were Robin, the dearest part of the dearest thing on earth.  Many of her kisses had gone to those little freckles.

Dion might have to part not only from Rosamund but also from Robin.

He had become very fond of his little son.  The detachment which had perhaps marked his mental attitude to the baby did not mark his mental attitude to the boy.  In the Robin of to-day, the jerseyed and knickerbockered person, with the incessantly active legs, the eager eyes, the perpetually twittering voice, Dion was conscious of the spirit of progress.  Already he was able to foresee the small school-boy, whom only a father could properly help and advise in regard to many aspects of the life ahead; already he was looking forward to the time when he could take a hand in the training of Robin.  It would be very hard to go away from that little bit of quicksilver, very hard indeed.

But the thought which made his heart sink, which brought with it almost a sensation of mortal sickness to his soul, was the thought of parting from Rosamund.  As he walked down Parliament Street he imagined the good-by to her on the eve of sailing for South Africa.  That acute moment might never come.  This evening he felt it on the way.  Whatever happened it would be within his power to stay with Rosamund, for there was no conscription in England.  If he went to South Africa then the action of leaving her would be deliberate on his part.  Was there within him something that was stronger than his love for her?  There must be, he supposed, for he knew that if men were called for, and if Rosamund asked, or even begged him not to go, he would go nevertheless.

Vaporous Westminster, dark and leaning to the great river, for how long he had not seen it, or realized what it meant to him!  Custom had blinded his eyes and had nearly closed his mind to it.  The day’s event had given him back sight and knowledge.  This evening his familiarity with Westminster bred in him intensity of vision and apprehension.  It seemed to him that scales had fallen from his eyes, that for the first time he really saw Parliament Street, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Bridge, the river.  The truth was, that for the first time he really felt them, felt that he belonged to them