"But it's true," he said. "And why shouldn't one tell the pretty truths as well as the plain ones?—Isn't it a positively divine night? Look at the moon just clearing the top of the firs there! It is good to be alive. Mother—may I say it?—I am very grateful to you for having brought me into the world."
"Ah! but, my poor darling——" Katherine cried.
"No, no," he said, "put that out of your dear head once and for all. I am grateful, being as I am, grateful for everything, it being as it is. I don't believe I would have anything—not anything save those four years when I left you—altered, even if I could. I've found my work, and it enlarges its borders in all manner of directions; and it prospers. And I have money to put it through. And I have that boy. He's a dear little chap, and it is wonderfully good of Uncle Roger and Mary to give him to me. But he's getting a trifle too fond of horses. I can't break poor, old Chifney's heart; but when his days are numbered, those of the stables—as far as training racers goes—are numbered likewise, I think. I'll keep on the stud farm. But I grow doubtful about the rest. I wish it wasn't so, but so it is. Sport is changing hands, passing from those of romance into those of commerce.—Well, the stables served their turn. They helped to bring me through. But now perhaps they're a little out of the picture."
Richard drew her hand nearer and kissed it, leaning back in his chair, and looking up at her.
"And I have you—" he said, "you most perfect of mothers.—And—ah! here comes Honoria!"