"Nor my mother."

"Poor boy--poor boy!"

"You knew my mother?"

"Yes, Peter, I knew your mother," said Sir Richard, staring very
hard at the chair again, and I saw that his mouth had grown
wonderfully tender. "Yours has been a very secluded life hitherto,
Peter," he went on after a moment.

"Entirely so," said I, "with the exception of my
never-to-be-forgotten visits to the Hall."

"Ah, yes, I taught you to ride, remember."

"You are associated with every boyish pleasure I ever knew," said
I, laying my hand upon his arm. Sir Richard coughed and grew
suddenly red in the face.

"Why--ah--you see, Peter," he began, picking up his riding whip
and staring at it, "you see your uncle was never very fond of
company at any time, whereas I--"

"Whereas you could always find time to remember the lonely boy
left when all his companions were gone on their holidays--left to
his books and the dreary desolation of the empty schoolhouse, and
echoing cloisters--"

"Pooh!" exclaimed Sir Richard, redder than ever. "Bosh!"