"After you were born she sat less in Basil's room in the third story; she began to take an interest in life; she became wrapped up in you, in caring for you, in making plans for your future. You were to do what Basil was to have done, to--" "But it's not safe to plan what children are to do!" cried Richard. "You don't know what their plans may be. I'm sorry for mother, but I should think she would have known that!" "That is true to a certain point. Your mother has feared that you would show some of those traits which distressed her in Basil, that intense absorption in matters which are to her the least important in life, to the utter exclusion of those which seem to her to be more practical and valuable. She does not understand persons of a different temperament, especially the temperament to which regular meals"--here Dr. Lister smiled a little at Richard--"and neat clothes and the good opinion of the public are adiaphora." "I have always done what she wanted me to do like a lamb," declared Richard in a hard tone. He moved now toward the edge of his chair. "You have always been an obedient son." "What does mother consider matters of no importance?" "In Basil's case it was art, literature, and music which she thought he set above everything else." "Was my Uncle Basil musical?" "To a certain extent." Dr. Lister wondered uneasily how he would ever approach the point of his discourse. "To go on, Richard--" "Why did mother ever let me take lessons?" "She thought you would in that way exhaust in your childhood any enthusiasm you might have and you would then give your mind to other things." "Glory!" said Richard. Then, "I am very sorry for my Uncle Basil." "He deserved some sympathy. We all do in this contrary world. I--" "I cannot see why Greek should seem any more practical than music to my mother." "Greek is the language of the New Testament." "I cannot see what this has to do with me, anyhow, father. I have been in this house or on the porch for three days." Dr. Lister began to speak with nervous haste. "The history of your Uncle Basil has recently been opened by this man Utterly, who came here to find out what he could about him. Your mother was willing to give him only the most meager information. In this she was justified, for the young man seemed bound to prove that no one could have written as Basil wrote without having had the terrible experiences about which he wrote. "When I urged her to tell him what she knew, she told me that for a year before his death Basil had been estranged; that his father had died from the shock of his death; that Waltonville had never suspected the alienation; and that she had always had an intense dread of its being suspected. "After that I could only send Mr. Utterly on his way with the surface facts of Basil's life, hoping that the matter would end there.