Then he took it into his head to revisit Chiswick and have a good look at the Cove farm and other places he knew so well . He had a notion that it might be a decent place to spend a summer month or two in . His wife went to seaside and mountain resorts , but he liked something quieter . There was good fishing at the Cove and in Chiswick pond , as he remembered . If he liked the farm as well as his memory promised him he would do , he would bid it in himself . It would make Neil Jameson turn in his grave if the penniless lad he had jeered at came into the possession of his old ancestral property that had been owned by a Jameson for over one hundred years . There was a flavour in such a revenge that pleased Robert Turner . He smiled one of his occasional grim smiles over it . When Robert Turner smiled , weather prophets of the business sky foretold squalls . Presently he opened the gate and went through . Halfway down the lane forked , one branch going over to the house , the other slanting across the field to the cove . Turner took the latter and soon found himself on the grey shore where the waves were tumbling in creamy foam just as he remembered them long ago . Nothing about the old cove had changed ; he walked around a knobby headland , weather-worn with the wind and spray of years , which cut him off from sight of the Jameson house , and sat down on a rock . He thought himself alone and was annoyed to find a boy sitting on the opposite ledge with a book on his knee . The lad lifted his eyes and looked Turner over with a clear , direct gaze . He was about twelve years old , tall for his age , slight , with a delicate , clear-cut face -- a face that was oddly familiar to Turner , although he was sure he had never seen it before . The boy had oval cheeks , finely tinted with colour , big , shy blue eyes quilled about with long black lashes , and silvery-golden hair lying over his head in soft ringlets like a girl 's . What girl 's ? Something far back in Robert Turner 's dreamlike boyhood seemed to call to him like a note of a forgotten melody , sweet yet stirring like a pain . The more he looked at the boy the stronger the impression of a resemblance grew in every feature but the mouth .
That was alien to his recollection XXXXX the face , yet there was something about it , when taken by itself , that seemed oddly familiar also -- yes , and unpleasantly familiar , although the mouth was a good one -- finely cut and possessing more firmness than was found in all the other features put together .
If although around in into of on over that with