She let him smoke in her drawing-room afterwards, and still they talked; they seemed to have so much to say to each other. Once the Major pointed to the photo on the mantelpiece.
"Did he give you that?"
She smiled.
"Yes; he is such a boy, isn't he? So proud of himself when he is in his pink. I sent him home to his mother to-day; he does rather bore me, entre nous, with his youthful aggressiveness and self-assertion. But he's a nice boy for all that. I wish my girl was home; they would be great chums, I know. I feel so very old when I am talking to him. I'm afraid his mother is not very sympathetic, is she? The young want an interest shown in them, and a patient tolerance for their youthful failings. I am glad to mother him a little, for I never forget my own youth—and I had a baby son once. He died when he was two; I always feel tenderly towards boys. He would have been such a big son by now if he had lived."
She sighed heavily, and a wistful look came into her eyes. The Major's spirits rose. How foolish he had been to think that Austin de Cressiers could stand in his way! What was he but a bumptious boy, who bored this kind little soul to distraction! He looked almost kindly at the photo at which a short time ago he had gnashed his teeth.
It was past ten o'clock when he let himself in with his latchkey. Sidney, candle in hand, was just going up the wide staircase. She turned at his entrance.
"Oh, you truant! Why didn't you tell us you were dining out? But we guessed. Go in and see dad, won't you? Good-night!"
He nodded a good-night to her, and marched off rather surlily to the smoking-room.
Admiral Urquhart greeted him pleasantly:
"What kind of night? Rain before long, eh?"