“I suppose so,” said Felix, but the lust for romance still lingered in his pale face and whole attenuated person.
“Do you want to go abroad, Felix?”
“It’s the dream of my life,” Felix said earnestly.
“Where were you, before you came into the shop?”
“In an orphanage. I was brought up there. At one time, I had hopes of making some interesting discovery regarding my birth, which was irregular, if you’ll excuse me mentioning such a thing. But it appeared that it was only too well known whose son I was, and there was never any question of its being a foreign nobleman who was responsible, or any one like that.”
Rose was breathless with entirely unfeigned interest.
“Then who was it?”
“A travelling salesman, who lodged at the house where my mother was a servant-girl. He travelled in tombstones, I believe. It was suitable, in a way, because she died, when I was born, at the Union. She was only sixteen, and I believe he was turned out of the town and never dared show his face there again.”
“Served him right! Then was Menebees your mother’s name?”
“That’s right, Mrs. Aviolet. And they had me christened Felix because they’d come to the letter F, and Frank and Frederick, and the common names like that, had already been given. I think I was in luck there,” said the youth complacently.