"It was a mistake," he told me once, apropos of it.

"If he had said that it disturbed him, but that I might do it later, I should have been delighted to stop.

I always liked feeling that I was obliging people." He disliked his father, and feared him.

The tall, handsome gentleman, accustomed to be obeyed, in reality passionately fond of his children, dismayed him.

He once wrote on a piece of paper the words, "I hate papa," and buried it in the garden.
For the rest, he was an ordinary, rather clever, secretive child, speaking very little of his feelings, and caring, as he has told me since, very little for anybody except his nurse.