“Why do you put them like that, Ralph?” answered his father, a certain uneasiness in his tone. “You mean it this way: you love father first—that is quite right—then comes Robina, then Harriet.”
“It used to be like that,” said Ralph, in a very low tone.
“And it is still, my son; it is still.”
Ralph fidgetted, and was silent. After a time he said:
“Put me down please, father.”
Mr Durrant obeyed.
“Take my hand, father,” said Ralph, “I want to lead you somewhere.”
Mr Durrant took the little hand. Ralph conducted his father to the edge of the round pond.
“Does you see the water over there?” said Ralph, “just over there where the lilies grow?”
“Of course, my dear boy.”