His friends pointed out that it was
a doubtful kindness to initiate a boy from behind a drapery
counter into the blessedness of the higher catering, to
which Lucas invariably replied that all kindnesses were
doubtful. Which was perhaps true.
It was after one of his Adrian evenings that Lucas met
his aunt, Mrs. Mebberley, at a fashionable teashop, where
the lamp of family life is still kept burning and you meet
relatives who might otherwise have slipped your memory.
``Who was that good-looking boy who was dining with you
last night?'' she asked. ``He looked much too nice to be
thrown away upon you.''
Susan Mebberley was a charming woman, but she was also an
aunt.
``Who are his people?'' she continued, when the
prot
g's name (revised version) had been given her.
``His mother lives at Beth---''
Lucas checked himself on the threshold of what was perhaps
a social indiscretion.
``Beth? Where is it? It sounds like Asia Minor. Is she
mixed up with Consular people?''
``Oh, no. Her work lies among the poor.''
This was a side-slip into truth. The mother of Adrian was
employed in a laundry.
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