As she rang the bell, Bobus came in from the conservatory, book in
hand, to receive the morning kiss, for which he had to bend to his
little mother. He was not tall, but he had attained his full height,
and had a well-knit sturdy figure which, together with his heavy brow
and deep-set eyes, made him appear older than his real age-—nineteen.
His hair and upper lip were dark, and his eyes keen with a sense of
ready power and strong will.
"Good morning, Bobus; I didn't see you all day yesterday," said his
mother.
"No, I couldn't find you before you went out on Saturday night, to
tell you I was going to run down to Belforest with Bauerson. I
wanted to enlighten his mind as to wild hyacinths. They are in
splendid bloom all over the copses, and I thought he would have gone
down on his knees to them, like Linnaeus to the gorse."
"I'm afraid he didn't go on his knees to anything else."
"Well, it is not much in his line."
"Then can he be a nice Sunday companion?"
"Now, mother, I expected credit for not scandalising the natives.
We got out at Woodgate, and walked over, quite 'unknownst,' to
Kenminster."
"I was not thinking of the natives, but of yourself."
"As you are a sensible woman, Mother Carey, wasn't it a more goodly
and edifying thing to put a man like Bauerson in a trance over the
bluebells, than to sit cramped up in foul air listening to the
glorification of a wholesale massacre.
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