After the customary greetings and inquiries were over, said Mr. Culpepper to the General: “Is your nephew Kester still stopping with you at Park Newton?”
“Yes, he is still there,” answered the General; “though he has talked every day for the last month or more about going. Kester is one of those unaccountable fellows that you can never depend on. He may stay for another month, or he may take it into his head to go by the first train to-morrow.”
“I heard a little while ago that he was ill; but I suppose he is better again by this time?”
“Yes—quite recovered. He was laid up for three or four days, but he soon got all right again.”
“Your other nephew—George—Tom—Harry—what’s his name—is he quite well?”
“You mean Richard—he who came from India? Yes, he is quite well.”
“He’s very like his poor brother, only darker, and—pardon me for saying so—not half so agreeable a young fellow.”
“Everybody seems to have liked poor Lionel.”
“Nobody could help liking him,” said the Squire, with energy. “I felt the loss of that poor boy almost as much as if he had been my own son.”
“Not a soul in the world had an ill word to say about him.”