“Uncle brought me that long ago, and I'm very fond of it.”
“This now looks suspicious man's ring with a lotus cut on the stone and a note attached. I tremble as I ask, who, when, and where?”
“A gentleman, on my birthday, in Calcutta.”
“I breathe again it was my sire?”
“Don't be absurd. Of course it was, and he did everything to make my visit pleasant. I wish you'd go and see him like a dutiful son, instead of idling here.”
“That's what Uncle Mac is eternally telling me, but I don't intend to be lectured into the treadmill till I've had my fling first,” muttered Charlie rebelliously.
“If you fling yourself in the wrong direction, you may find it hard to get back again,” began Rose gravely.
“No fear, if you look after me as you seem to have promised to do, judging by the thanks you get in this note. Poor old governor! I should like to see him, for it's almost four years since he came home last and he must be getting on.”
Charlie was the only one of the boys who ever called his father “governor,” perhaps because the others knew and loved their fathers, while he had seen so little of his that the less respectful name came more readily to his lips, since the elder man in truth seemed a governor issuing requests or commands, which the younger too often neglected or resented.
Long ago Rose had discovered that Uncle Stephen found home made so distasteful by his wife's devotion to society that he preferred to exile himself, taking business as an excuse for his protracted absences.