Herbert Heywood was in the depths of an arm-chair reading the paper. Mrs. Heywood was on the other side of the fireplace with a book on her lap. But she was dozing over it, and her head nodded on to her chest. Herbert turned over the leaves of the paper and then studied the advertisements. He had a look of extreme boredom. Every now and then he yawned quietly and lengthily. At last he let the paper fall on to the floor, and uttered his thoughts aloud, so that his mother was awakened.
“Did you say anything, Herbert?” said the old lady.
“Nothing, mother, except that I am bored stiff.”
He went over to the piano and played “God Save the King” with one finger, in a doleful way.
Mrs. Heywood glanced over her spectacles at him.
“Would you like a game of cribbage, dear?”
“No, thanks, mother,” said Herbert hastily. “Not in the afternoon.”
Mrs. Heywood listened to his fumbling notes for a moment and then spoke again.
“Won’t you go out for a walk? It would do you good, Herbert.”
“Think so?” said Herbert bitterly; without accepting the suggestion, he played “Three Blind Mice,” also with one finger. It sounded more melancholy than “God Save the King.”