” She turned and looked at him. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence. My only love is for my poor lost son. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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