"Peter? Surely not!" she quavered.
"That curly hair wot I had," he explained, swallowing his annoyance, "all came off—got clawered off by a monkey at the Zoo." His imagination was coming to his aid as usual. "I went too near the cage an' it stuck out its clawer an' clawered it all off—every bit. They took me home bald an' the nex' day it grew again but a bit different."
"How terrible!" the visitor murmured, shutting her eyes. "Wasn't your dear mother sad when it grew that colour?"
"No," said William, coldly, "she likes this colour."
"That's so like her," said the lady tenderly, "to pretend to you that she likes it."
William began to dislike the lady. He waited for her to continue the conversation.
"Somehow you're quite different in every way from what I expected," she went on, with a distinct note of regret in her voice which William felt to be far from flattering. "You're taller and stouter, and your expression ... yes, that's QUITE different."
"Yes," said William, still anxious to carry out his part of the bargain. "I've changed a lot since I had those pictures took. Got a bit older, you know, an' had some awful illnesses."
"Really," said the lady, in sympathy. "Your dear mother never told me in her letters."
"She never knew," said William. "I never told her, so as not to worry her. I jus' went about as usual, an' she never knew. But it made me look different afterwards."