"
Mr. Wade nodded, and slowly sipped his port. "Queer thing is," he said,
after a pause and looking towards the door, "that that child is
startlingly like what your mother used to be at the age of eighteen,
when I first knew her. Perhaps it is only my imagination--not that I
have much of that. Perhaps all girls are alike at that age--a sort of
freshness and an optimism that positively take one's breath away. At
any rate, she reminds me of your mother." He broke off, and looked at
Cornish with his slow and rather ponderous smile. His attitude towards
the world was indeed one of conscious ponderosity. He did not attempt
to understand the lighter side of life, but took it seriously as a
work-a-day matter. "I was once in love with your mother," he stated
squarely. "But circumstances were against us. You see, your father was
a lord's younger brother, and that made a great difference in Clapham
in those days. I felt it a good deal at the time, but I of course got
over it years and years ago. No sentiment about me, Tony. Sentiment and
seventeen stone won't balance, you know." The great man slowly drew the
decanter towards him. "She got a better husband in your father--a
clever, bright chap--and I was best man, I recollect. It was about that
time--about your age I was--that I took seriously to my work. Before, I
had been a little wild. And that interest has lasted me right up to the
present time.
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