juncture of the
letter--he was training himself to swear in a moderate, gentlemanly
way--"Damn it all! Whatever I do, it seems I _cannot_ come from
altogether respectable stock."...]

You grew up therefore without a mother's care, though good
Bridget did her best. When you were a child I fear I rather
neglected you. I was so disappointed and embittered that I
sought consolation in the legends of our beloved country and
in Scriptural exegesis. You were rather a naughty boy at
Swansea Grammar School and somewhat of a scamp at Malvern
College--Well! we won't go over all that again. I quite
understand your reticence about the past. Once again I think
the blame was mine as much as yours. I ought to have
interested myself more in your pursuits and games ... what a
pity, by the bye, that you seem to have lost your gift of
drawing and painting! I do remember how at one time we were
drawn together over the old Welsh legends and the very
clever drawings you made of national heroes and
heroines--they seemed to come on you as quite a surprise
when I took them out of the old portfolio.

But about your mother--for it is necessary you should know
all I can tell you in case you have to answer questions as
to your parentage. Your mother's name was, as you know, Mary
Vavasour. It is a common name in South Wales though it seems
to be Norman French. She came to our Pontystrad school as a
teacher in 1873. Her father was something to do with mining
at Merthyr. I fell in love with her--she had a sweet
face--and married her in 1874. You were born two years
afterwards. Bridget had been my housekeeper before I was
married and I asked her to stay on lest your mother should
be inexperienced at first in the domestic arts. They never
got on well together and when Mary had recovered from her
confinement and seemed disposed to take up housekeeping I
sent away poor Bridget reluctantly and only took her back
after your mother's flight. Bridget was a second mother to
you as you know, though I fear you never showed her much
affection till these later days.

_October_ 23.

My eyes seem to be improving instead of getting tired with
the new delights of reading and writing. I owe all this to
you and to the clever oculist at Clifton