"I was wondering," Mary said. "It's odd, isn't it, dear, that neither
of them ever seems to bother at all about us? You'd think when Muriel
was going back to school next week that she'd want to spend some of her
time with her father and mother. She does give _you_ a little of it;
but I hardly see her between breakfast and dinner."
"Young, you know. She's young," the father apologized. "We must try to
remember that. You'd think that Geoffrey would be glad to play a round
with me; but if he can dodge it, he will. I saw a bit of him last week,
because there was a fellow staying at the hotel who offered to give me
some advice about the proper allowance to make him at Oxford when he
goes up in October. I can't help feeling that two hundred and fifty
pounds a year is enough. But this fellow says, 'No, you can't do on
less than three hundred pounds at a college like St. Mary's.' Well, I
suppose I shall have to give it to him."
"Yes," Mary sighed, "children are strange. They seem quite suddenly not
to belong to one, and to be almost complete strangers. Thank heaven,
Richard at any rate has never learnt to do without me entirely."
"Ah, Richard!" her husband laughed. "But we were discussing ordinary
boys and girls, common or garden boys and girls, not paragons. Though,
by George, I've no right to tease you about him, for he is a fine lad.
There's no doubt about that. Well, he'll be here to-morrow. Yet not for
long, I'm afraid. You mark my words, he'll be gazetted almost at once.
They've a good many losses to make up in South Africa."
"Jemmie, don't! It's too horrible to think of."
"Duty, my dear," said the father sternly. "You must be glad in your
heart that Richard is going to do his duty. We shall be proud of him if
he gets out there."
"I should be just as proud of him at home," said the mother.
Further discussion of Richard was interrupted by the arrival of
Geoffrey and Muriel, who immediately sat down to tea and exclaimed at
the coldness of the scones.
"Did you expect us to wait any longer?" their mother asked. "It's
half-past five, dear children."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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