"Oh, of course, I've some holidays," said Geoff. "But, you see, when a fellow has only got a mother and sisters——"
"Only," repeated the old gentleman; but Geoff detected no sarcasm in his tone.
"And mother's afraid of my skating, or boating on the river, or——"
"Doesn't she let you go in for the school games?" interrupted Mr. Byrne again.
"Oh yes; it would be too silly not to do that. I told her at the beginning—I mean, she understood—it wouldn't do. But there's lots of things I'd like to do, if mother wasn't afraid. I should like to ride, or at least to have a tricycle. It's about the only thing to make life bearable in this horrible place. Such weather! I do hate London!"
"Indeed!" said Mr. Byrne. "It's a pity your mother didn't consult you before settling here."
"She did it for the best, I suppose," said Geoff. "She didn't want to part with me, you see. But I'd rather have been at a boarding-school in the country; I do so detest London. And then it's not pleasant to be too poor to have things one should have at a public school."
"What may those be?" inquired the old gentleman.
"Oh, heaps of things. Pocket-money, for one thing. I was telling mother about it. I really should have more, if I'm to stay properly at school. There's Dick Colethorne, where I was staying last holidays—cousins of ours; he has six times what I have, and he's only two years older."
"And—is his mother a widow, and in somewhat restricted circumstances?" asked Mr. Byrne.