"Eight years hence, when you come of age and I give account of my stewardship, you will be very rich," she said.
Richard lay quite still, his eyes again fixed on the dimness.
"That—that's good news," he said at last, drawing a long breath. "I saw things to-day, mother, while we were driving. It was nobody's fault. There was a fair with a menagerie and shows at Farley Row. I couldn't help seeing. Don't ask me about it, mother. I'd rather forget, if I can. Only it made me understand that it is safer for any one—well, any one like—me—don't you know, to be rich."
Richard sat up, flung his arms round her and kissed her with sudden passion.
"Beautiful mother, honey-sweet mother," he cried, "you've told me just everything I wanted to know. I won't be afraid any more." Then he added, in a charming little tone of authority: "Now you mustn't stay here any longer. You must be tired. You must go to bed and go to sleep."
BOOK III
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
CHAPTER I