She is a generous woman, a magnanimous woman; wear her chains and she will not brain you with her club.  She is the light, the centre of every society where she appears, like what shall I say? like the moon in a bowl of old Rhenish.  And you will drain that bowl to the bottom to seize her, as it were—­catch a correct idea of her; ay, and your brains are drowned in the attempt.  Yes, Richie; I was aware of your residence at Riversley.  Were you reminded of your wandering dada on Valentine’s day?  Come, my boy, we have each of us a thousand things to relate.  I may be dull—­I do not understand what started you on your journey in search of me.  An impulse?  An accident?  Say, a directing angel!  We rest our legs here till evening, and then we sup.  You will be astonished to hear that you have dined.  ’Tis the fashion with the Germans.  I promise you good wine shall make it up to you for the return to school-habits.  We sup, and we pack our scanty baggage, and we start tonight.  Brook no insult at Courts if you are of material value:  if not, it is unreservedly a question whether you like kickings.’

My father paused, yawned and stretched, to be rid of the remainder of his aches and stiffness.  Out of a great yawn he said: 

’Dear lads, I have fallen into the custom of the country; I crave your permission that I may smoke.  Wander, if you choose, within hail of me, or sit by me, if you can bear it, and talk of your school-life, and your studies.  Your aunt Dorothy, Richie?  She is well?  I know not her like.  I could bear to hear of any misfortune but that she suffered pain.

My father smoked his cigar peacefully.  He had laid a guitar on his knees, and flipped a string, or chafed over all the strings, and plucked and thrummed them as his mood varied.  We chatted, and watched the going down of the sun, and amused ourselves idly, fermenting as we were.  Anything that gave pleasure to us two boys pleased and at once occupied my father.  It was without aid from Temple’s growing admiration of him that I recovered my active belief and vivid delight in his presence.  My younger days sprang up beside me like brothers.  No one talked, looked, flashed, frowned, beamed, as he did! had such prompt liveliness as he! such tenderness!  No one was ever so versatile in playfulness.  He took the colour of the spirits of the people about him.  His vivacious or sedate man-of-the-world tone shifted to playfellow’s fun in a twinkling.  I used as a little fellow to think him larger than he really was, but he was of good size, inclined to be stout; his eyes were grey, rather prominent, and his forehead sloped from arched eyebrows.  So conversational were his eyes and brows that he could persuade you to imagine he was carrying on a dialogue without opening his mouth.  His voice was charmingly clear; his laughter confident, fresh, catching, the outburst of his very self, as laughter should be.  Other sounds of laughter were like echoes.