She moved across the green to the corner where Charles was coolly sponging his face and chest over a basin.

"In a moment, ma'am!" said he, looking up with a twinkle in his eye as the boys made way for her.
She read the meaning of it and smiled at her own mistake as she drew back the hand she had put out to take the sponge from him.

He was her youngest, and she had seen him but twice since, at the age of eight, he had left home for Westminster School.

In spite of the evidence of her eyes he was a small child still--until his voice warned her.
She drew back her hand at once.

Boys scorn any show of feeling, even between mother and son; and Charles should not be ridiculed on her account.