“Mumsey’s” heart was soon won by Mr Maynard’s praise of Jasper.
“Such a thoughtful little fellow,” he said. “When I was his age I am sure it would never have entered my head to warn off any one when I was recovering from one of the illnesses so much commoner among children in those days. But your boy looks delicate—does London suit him? I’m afraid,” he went on, hesitating a little, “I’m afraid you must miss Fareham a great deal. We find it so healthy—Lily is twice the child she was. She and her mother live with us. My daughter’s husband was killed in the war.”
“How very sad!” said Mrs Fortescue gently. Then after a moment’s pause she went on—“Jasper has never been as strong as my other children, but I don’t think it’s the fault of London. We have always been there six or eight months of the year.”
“I know what would set him up,” Mr Maynard remarked. “A sea voyage! I am a great believer in sea voyages—had so many of them, you see, for I’ve spent most of my life in Australia.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs Fortescue with interest, for this explained the slight touch of abruptness in her new friend’s manner, as well as some small peculiarities of tone and pronunciation. “I wish we could send him—or take him, rather—a voyage, but it is now quite impossible.”
“Ah, yes—I suppose so,” he replied, but rather absently. Then he turned to her again with a kind of eagerness.
”‘Jasper,’ your little fellow is called, he told me—‘Jasper Greville.’ Excuse my asking if they are family names.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Fortescue, a little surprised, “they were my father’s. My name before I married was ‘Greville.’ We wanted to preserve them, for, strangely enough, my family has completely died out.”
“I have met ‘Grevilles,’” said Mr Maynard.
“Oh yes—there are plenty of Grevilles, but none with whom we can trace any connection. I was an only child, and so was my father. I was left an orphan very young and brought up by my mother’s people. ‘Jasper’ was the name for the eldest sons in our family for generations, I believe.”