Still, it is very kind of you to come and see me."
Alfred, who was drawing in colored chalks at the other end of the room,
rose up and approached his father.
"Would you like me to go into the other room, father?" he asked. "I can
leave my work quite easily for a time, and I have several books there."
Mr. Bomford screwed an eyeglass into his eye and looked across at the
child.
"What an extraordinarily--forgive my remark, Mr. Burton--but what an
extraordinarily well-behaved child! Is it possible that this is your
boy?"
Alfred turned his head and there was no doubt about the relationship.
He, too, possessed the deep-set eyes with their strange, intense glow,
the quivering mouth, the same sensitiveness of outline.
"Yes, this is my son," Burton admitted, quietly. "Go and shake hands
with Mr. Bomford, Alfred."
The child crossed the room and held out his hand with grave
self-possession.
"It is very kind of you to come and see father," he said. "I am afraid
that sometimes he is very lonely here. I will go away and leave you to
talk."
Mr. Bomford fumbled in his pocket.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "Dear me! Ah, here is a half-crown! You must
buy some chocolates or something to-morrow, young man.
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