Gilbert always gave this season to companionship with his mother.

About seven o'clock they were talking quietly together of memories light and grave, of Gilbert's boyhood, of his sister who was dead, of his father who was dead.

Then came a pause, whilst both were silently busy with the irrecoverable past.
Mrs.Grail broke the silence to say: 'You're a lonely man, Gilbert.' 'Why no, not lonely, mother.

I might be, but for you.' 'Yes, you're lonely, my dear.

It's poor company that I can give you.