Her young master was the very apple of her eye, and she strove to supply the dreadful want in his life caused by the loss of his mother. Just she and two others knew how terribly he felt that loss, for his mind was an open book to her, and undemonstrative and practical as he invariably was, he sometimes dropped a remark that showed his thoughts were never far away from his sorrow. "She was my pal," he said once to Gay, "the only real pal I ever had. I don't think we had any secrets from each other--certainly no guilty ones, thank God--and now she's gone, I realise bitterly how much more I might have done to make her happy. She was easily pleased, bless her, for all she wanted was to be with me, but she never intruded, and I remember so well how she used to propose something she thought would please me, and say: 'If you don't mind, lovie?' as though she thought that perhaps she bored me sometimes." Only Gay, and Mrs. Summers and Aunt Lavinia knew the tremendous depth of feeling, the capacity for suffering, that lay under Chris Hannen's easy-going, bantering ways, and if the housekeeper used all her tact and kindliness to make up to him, if ever so little, something of what he had lost, Gay Lawless, who had the clearest possible insight into people's characters, never made the mistake of volunteering any sympathy. She knew Chris hated it, as she did, and appreciated his silent pluck as much as he did the reserves of courage that had not yet been called up in herself. "Good-morning, Master Chris," said Mrs. Summers (he was always Master Chris to her, never having grown up in her eyes), but her face assumed a stern expression as she regarded the only half-finished breakfast. "No food again this morning? I hope you're not up to them wastin' tricks again? Wastin' your life, _I_ call it," with a disgusted sniff. Chris looked up with a smile. "Good-morning, Summers," he said. "I hope I see you well? No, I am not wasting just at present, though there's just a pound or two to come off before Kempton next week. We shall have another glorious winner (Chris characterised all winners as glorious) then. Which is it to be this time, a new bonnet or a dress-length?" "Gloves this time, Master Chris, and thank you," Mrs. Summers replied, "though there ain't much chance of showing off any finery in _this_ place, I'm sure." "How often has the butcher called this week, Summers?" Chris asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Mrs. Summers tossed her head. The butcher was rather a sore point with her, his name having been coupled with hers by "those impudent bits of boys," as she designated the stable lads. "If I hear one of them brats discussing me and my affairs, I'll box his ears for him soundly," she threatened, "so there!" "Quite right, Summers, don't you stand it," Chris agreed. "By the way, I'm going up to town to-day, so don't bother about any dinner for me."