IdonotremembermuchofmyjourneytoWimblehurstwithmymotherexcepttheimageofherassittingboltupright，asratherdisdainingthethird-classcarriageinwhichwetraveled，andhowshelookedawayfrommeoutofthewindowwhenshespokeofmyuncle。“Ihavenotseenyouruncle。”shesaid，“sincehewasaboy。”Sheaddedgrudgingly，“Thenhewassupposedtobeclever。”
Shetooklittleinterestinsuchqualitiesascleverness。
“Hemarriedaboutthreeyearsago，andsetupforhimselfinWimblehurst。SoIsupposeshehadsomemoney。”
Shemusedonscenesshehadlongdismissedfromhermind。
“Teddy。”shesaidatlastinthetoneofonewhohasbeenfeelinginthedarkandfinds。“HewascalledTeddy。aboutyourage。Nowhemustbetwenty-sixorseven。”