Gaston was no philosopher, but he could place a thing when he saw it: which is a kind of genius.
Presently Sir William said quietly: "Mrs.Gasgoyne, you knew Robert well; his son ought to know you." Gaston turned to Mrs.Gasgoyne, and said in his father's manner as much as possible, for now his mind ran back to how his father talked and acted, forming a standard for him: "My father once told me a tale of the Keithley Hunt--something 'away up,' as they say in the West--and a Mrs.Warren Gasgoyne was in it." He made an instant friend of Mrs.Gasgoyne--made her so purposely.

This was one of the few things from his father's talks upon his past life.

He remembered the story because it was interesting, the name because it had a sound.
She flushed with pleasure.

That story of the Hunt was one of her sweetest recollections.

For her bravery then she had been voted by the field "a good fellow," and an admiral present declared that she had a head "as long as the maintop bow-line." She loved admiration, though she had no foolish sentiment; she called men silly creatures, and yet would go on her knees across country to do a deserving man-friend a service.