"Certainly you shall have an answer: and in the meantime my thanks; or if there is any word more grateful than thanks,--more than words can say----" He turned to look back as he closed the little gate for foot passengers at the end of the bare road which was called the avenue, and took off his hat as she waved her hand to him. Then she turned back again towards the house. It was a ruddy October afternoon, the sun going down in gold and crimson, with already the deeper, more gorgeous colours of winter in the sky. Geoff was hanging upon her arm, clinging to it with both of his, walking in her very shadow, as was his wont. "Why do you thank Theo Warrender like that? What has he done for us?" asked Geoff. "I don't think, dear, that you should talk of him in that familiar way. Theo! He is old enough to be"--here she paused for a moment, not pleased with the suggestion, and then added--"he might be your elder brother, at least." "Not unless I had another mamma," said Geoff. "Theo is about as old as you." "Oh no; much younger than I am. Do you remember you once said you would like him for your tutor, Geoff?" "I don't think I should now," said the little boy. "That was because he was so clever. I begin to think now, perhaps it would be better not to have such a clever one. When you are very small you don't understand." "You are not very big still, my dear boy." "No, but things come different." Geoff had a way of twisting his little face, as he made an observation wiser than usual, which amused the world in general, but not his mother. He was not a pretty boy; there was nothing in his appearance to satisfy a pretty young woman in her ambition and vanity for her child; but his little face was turned into a grotesque by those queer contortions. She put her hand upon his arm hastily. "Don't make such faces, Geoff. Why should you twist your features out of all shape, with every word you say?" This was perhaps too strong, and Geoff felt it so. "I don't want to make faces," he said, "but what else have you got to do it with when you are thinking? I'll tell you how I have found out that Theo Warrender would be too clever. That day when he showed me how to do my Latin"--The boy here paused, with a curious elfish gravity. "It was a long time ago." "I remember, dear." "Well, you were all talking, saying little speeches, as people do, you know, that come to pay visits; and he was out of it, so he talked to me. But now, when he comes, he makes the speeches, and you answer him, and you two run on till I think you never will be done; and it is I who am out of it," said Geoff, with great gravity, though without offence. His mother pressed his clinging arms to her side, with a sudden exclamation. "My own boy, _you_ feel out of it when I am talking!--you, my only child, my only comfort!" Lady Markland held him close to her, and quick tears sprang to her eyes.