Ralph felt extremely uncomfortable as he followed his conductor across
a noble hall, floored with dark polished oak, and paneled with the
same material. A door opened, and a servant announced "Master Conway."
A gentleman rose from his chair and held out his hand.
"I am glad to see you, Ralph Conway; and I hope your journey has been
a pretty comfortable one. It is very good of you to come such a long
distance to pay me a visit."
"Mother wanted me to, sir," Ralph said honestly. "I don't think--" and
he stopped.
"You don't think you would have come of your own accord, Ralph? No,
that is natural enough, my boy. At your age I am sure I should not
have cared to give up my holidays and spend them in a quiet house
among strangers. However, I wanted to see you, and I am very glad you
have come. I am an old friend of your mother's, you know, and so
desired to make the acquaintance of her son. I think you are like
her," he said, putting his hand on Ralph's shoulder and taking him to
the window and looking steadily at him.
"Other people have said so, sir; but I am sure I can't see how I
can be like her a bit. Mother is so pretty, and I am sure I am not
the least bit in the world; and I don't think it's nice for a boy to
be like a woman."
This was rather a sore point with Ralph, who had a smooth soft face
with large eyes and long eyelashes, and who had, in consequence, been
nicknamed "Sally" by his schoolfellows. The name had stuck to him in
spite of several desperate fights, and the fact that in point of
strength and activity he was fully a match for any boy of his own age;
but as there was nothing like derision conveyed by it, and it was
indeed a term of affection rather, than of contempt, Ralph had at last
ceased to struggle against it. But he longed for the time when the
sprouting of whiskers would obliterate the obnoxious smoothness of his
face. Mr. Penfold had smiled at his remark.
"I do not like girlish boys, Ralph; but a boy can have a girlish face
and yet be a true boy all over. I fancy that's your case.
"I hope so, sir. I think I can swim or run or fight any of the chaps
of my own age in the school; but I know I do look girlish about the
face. I have done everything I could to make my face rough. I have sat
in the sun, and wetted it with sea-water every five minutes, but it's
no use."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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