“Will you promise me that?”
“Yes, I will. I do promise it.”
She carried his hand to her lips and kissed it. Francis had always kept his promises.
“It is so difficult for young fellows without a home to keep straight in London,” he acknowledged. “There’s no good influence over us; there’s no pleasant family circle where we can spend our evenings: and we go out, and get drawn into this and that. It all comes of thoughtlessness, mother.”
“You have promised me, Francis.”
“Oh yes. And I will perform.”
“How long will it be before you are called to the Bar?” she asked, after a pause.
“Two years.”
“So much as that?”