Did she know Val?--how curious was the inquiry!--had she any intentions, any hopes, about the other boy--he whose figure, stooping on the little pier to push off somebody’s boat, was all his father knew of him? His father! Can you imagine, dear reader, the strange thrill that went through the man of the world, in spite of himself, when he thought of this “other boy”? The elegant calm of the accomplished diplomatist, who had lived for nothing but the State and society, fine talk and fine people, and pictures and china, for years, was completely disturbed and broken up by this invasion of unusual thought, and something which he tried to persuade himself was simply curiosity and not feeling. He had written at once, as I have said, to his confidential solicitor, bidding him to inquire into all the particulars he had learned from Val, and to ascertain the facts in strictest secrecy, without doing anything to awaken the woman’s suspicions, and to keep an eye upon the mother and son, taking care that they did not escape him again, but were always within reach if wanted. When he had done this, he thought that he had done all it was his duty to do. They did not require anything from him--neither help nor supervision. They had sufficed to themselves for so many years, and doubtless could do so still; and all that _he_ wanted (he said to himself) was to know where to lay his hand upon them for Val’s sake--to be able to prove his complete identity at any moment. For this purpose it was enough to know where the mother was, and to take care that she never again stole out of their ken, either by her wandering tastes or by the final way of death. This was all that was necessary in Val’s interest. And yet, after a while, it did not content Richard. He felt an uneasiness take possession of him; not that he wanted anything to say to the woman who had worked him so much harm, or wished to acknowledge and bind to himself the uncultured young tradesman, who was his son also as well as Val. No instinct of paternity moved him here. “The other boy” could, he was sure, be nothing but a bore to him--a creature whom he must be ashamed of. A girl might have been different,--might have been capable of training; but a boy who had spent all his youth as, at best, a working man, earning his bread day by day--no, he could not suppose himself to be moved by any inclination towards these unknown persons. He was only anxious to know where they were, to be able to lay his hand upon them when necessary, nothing more. All that he desired was that they should remain unknown in the condition they had chosen, neither troubled by him nor troubling him, only ready to be produced on Val’s behalf, should that be needful. What other feeling could he be expected to entertain.