"You are prejudiced. I could fancy that she is very nearly as much out of her mind as that terrible son of hers."
"Poor Edwy! I met him yesterday in the wood. He came crash through it like a young Samson. Poor, poor boy! To be deaf and dumb and idiotic seems—well, a cruel sentence."
"Strange how people like that live on! Useless—mere burdens—- creatures one shrinks from. Why, he must be almost grown up now."
"He is sixteen; but he looks a mere child. His body has grown, but his face has not; it is so young—pathetically young—and at times almost beautiful."
"Not when he is excited."
"No, no! And not when he laughs. What a frightful sound it is! You know, I suppose, that he can say one word. At least, not a word, but a noise that has a meaning."
"Mr. Blount told me about it. 'Sho' is the sound, is it not?"
"Yes; and it always means his mother. He calls to her in that way. It is very remarkable. You know he adores her. After all, I think she can't be without some good quality, when that poor stricken boy loves her so much."
"Like to like," said Mrs. Greatorex carelessly. "Really she is nearly as dull as he is. Let us forget her. What of to-morrow night? Did you hear who was likely to be there?"
"At the Firs-Robinsons'? Everybody, as far as I can see."