When she had once got hold of a name she never forgot it. "And how is So-
and-so?" she would exclaim, mentioning some former friend of Ernest's
with whom he had either now quarrelled, or who had long since proved to
be a mere comet and no fixed star at all. How Ernest wished he had never
mentioned So-and-so's name, and vowed to himself that he would never talk
about his friends in future, but in a few hours he would forget and would
prattle away as imprudently as ever; then his mother would pounce
noiselessly on his remarks as a barn-owl pounces upon a mouse, and would
bring them up in a pellet six months afterwards when they were no longer
in harmony with their surroundings.
Then there was Theobald. If a boy or college friend had been invited to
Battersby, Theobald would lay himself out at first to be agreeable. He
could do this well enough when he liked, and as regards the outside world
he generally did like. His clerical neighbours, and indeed all his
neighbours, respected him yearly more and more, and would have given
Ernest sufficient cause to regret his imprudence if he had dared to hint
that he had anything, however little, to complain of.
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