His literary instincts began to stir. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. I always wondered why he bought my mother's pearls so readily. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room.
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