Look, there he is. Always so quiet, gentle, good. Always, though snubbed, so passionately fond of Doda. Look, there he is. He’s at Milchester, in his spectacles, the darling! He’s always in his books. He isn’t good at games. He does so well at school. Oh, isn’t Harry proud of him and fond of him! Oh, doesn’t Harry often sigh and wish he could have gone to Tidborough to win those prizes and those honours there. But Tidborough’s closed to Harry, Harry says. Look, there goes Benji! It’s 1919. He’s sixteen. It’s Speech Day at Milchester. He’s in the Sixth. He’s won all those prizes. She’s holding two and Harry’s holding three, and there he goes to take the Heriot Gold Medal. All the great hall is simply cheering Benji! The Head is saying that he’s the youngest boy that’s ever won the Heriot. Look, there’s the Bishop handing it, and shaking Benji by the hand, and patting Benji on the back, and saying something to him. You can’t possibly hear what it is, every one is cheering so. Look, here he comes with the medal, in his spectacles, the darling! She can scarcely see, her eyes are brimming so. Harry’s quite shameless. Harry’s got tears standing on his cheeks and he’s set down the prizes and is stretching both his hands out to the boy. Feel, that’s his hand--her Benji’s hand--snuggled a moment in hers, and then he turns to his father and is eagerly whispering to his father, his spectacles rubbing his father’s head, the darling! He’s more demonstrative to his father than he is to her. She feels it rather sometimes. He’s awfully sweet to her, but, you can’t help noticing it, it’s more his gracious manner than the outpouring she’d give anything to have. It’s funny how he always seems the tiniest atom strange with her as if he didn’t know her very well or hadn’t known her very long. It sometimes pains a little. He’s different with his father. He loves being with his father. And doesn’t Harry love having the boy with him! Harry idolises the boy. Of course Huggo is Harry’s eldest, and whatever Huggo’s disappointments, these men--at least these perfect Harry type of men--have for their eldest boy within their hearts a place no other child can quite exactly fill. There’s some especial yearning that the eldest seems to call. There’s some incorporation of the father’s self, there’s some reflection that he sees, there’s some communion that he seems to find, that makes “My eldest son” a thing apart. But, with that reservation, and that’s ingrained in men, it’s Benji that’s the world to Harry. He’s going to Ox-ford. He’s going to have the Bar career that Huggo wouldn’t take. But Harry thinks there’s some especial wonders going to come to Benji. He says the boy’s a dreamer. He says the boy’s a thinker. “Benji’s got something rare about him, Rosalie,” he says. “That boy’s got a mark on him that genius has. You wait and see, old lady. It’s Benji’s going to make the old name shine!” Strike on!