"I do wish that Dave could be sent somewhere else, you know, mater! I shall get awfully boshed when he joins—it's rather hard lines on a fellow. Why can't he stop at the Manor?"
She sighed. "Will it be very bad for you, dear?"
"Well, a fellow's bound to be boshed. Of course he won't be in my form, but everybody 'll know who he is. It's rather hard lines, having a half-brother who's a blacky."
"Hush! Try and make the best of it," she said, squeezing his arm; "I'm afraid it's too late to send him anywhere else now. We all have things to put up with, Vivie; I have, as well as you."
"Y-e-s," he returned. "It's a good job he won't be in my form. I don't mind so tremendously much. The first time anybody gives me any cheek I'll jolly well sock their heads. Oh, I know you have things to put up with; by Jove, I wonder how you stand the governor sometimes!"
"We learn to stand things as we get older," she replied. "What can't be cured must be endured, Vivie."
"He's such a—I mean leaving his being a negro out of it altogether—he's such a cad. It does lick me how you ever did it, mater!"
"Did it?" she murmured. Her heart missed a beat.
"Well, married him! You never got on with him—I don't see how you could have expected to. Why, I can remember your rows when I was a kid. I think it was awful. I can't make out how you could do it, I'm hanged if I can!"
She winced—the colour in her face fluttered a little. For an instant she was ashamed. Her son looked very tall to her, and her sale looked very foul. But when she answered, her tone was saint-like.