He was six years old, abundant
in extreme animal spirits, which his mother beheld with a love and
pride in her eyes that was almost pathetic to see in one so possessed
by the apathy of unhappiness, and which Mrs. Bishop observed with
the silent resolve that Master Maurice was on no account to be allowed
into her drawing-room.
When it had come to the moment of leaving her son to the glowing
promises of Mrs. Bishop's tenderness and affection, Mrs. Priestly
broke down, winding her arms tight about his little neck and pressing
him fiercely to her bosom. Mrs. Bishop stood by with an indulgent
smile.
Then Mrs. Priestly had looked up with tears heavy in her eyes.
"I'll come and see you, Mrs. Bishop," she had said with
control--"I'll come and see you when I've said good-bye, before I
go."
Mrs. Bishop had wisely taken the suggestion and departed to the end
of the hall where her daughters were standing expectantly.
"Of course the child is spoilt," she said, in an undertone.
"Why?" they asked in chorus.
"Well, she's saying good-bye to him--crying over him. I call it very
nonsensical. I came away. That sort of thing annoys me."
And in the drawing-room, mother and son were saying a long farewell
that was to last them for a few weeks.
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