"—There will be a short interval for refreshment, when festivities will conclude with a performance on the French Horn: Mr. F. Ransome."
His mother laughed as she always did (relieved that he could take it that way); but this time, through all her laughter, he could see that there was something wrong.
And in the evening, when he had returned from seeing Booty home, she told him what it was. They were alone together in the front parlor.
"Ranny," she said, suddenly; "if I were you I wouldn't bring strangers in for a bit while your father's sufferin' as he is."
"Oh, I say, Mother—"
Ranny was disconcerted, for he had been going to ask her if he might bring Winny Dymond in some day.
"Well," she said, "it isn't as if He was one that could get away by Himself, like. He's always in and out."
"Yes. The old Hedgehog scuttles about pretty ubiquitous, don't he?"
That was all he said.
But though he took it like that, he knew his mother's heart; he knew what it had cost her to give him that pitiful hint. He was balancing himself on the arm of her chair now, and hanging over her like a lover.