Sir Godfrey Marayne smelt a good deal of antiseptic soap, but he
talked in a way that amused her, and he trusted as well as adored
her. She did what she liked with his money, her own money, and her
son's trust money, and she did very well. From the earliest
Benham's visits were to a gracious presence amidst wealthy
surroundings. The transit from the moral blamelessness of Seagate
had an entirely misleading effect of ascent.

Their earlier encounters became rather misty in his memory; they
occurred at various hotels in Seagate. Afterwards he would go,
first taken by a governess, and later going alone, to Charing Cross,
where he would be met, in earlier times by a maid and afterwards by
a deferential manservant who called him "Sir," and conveyed,
sometimes in a hansom cab and later in a smart brougham, by
Trafalgar Square, Lower Regent Street, Piccadilly, and streets of
increasing wealth and sublimity to Sir Godfrey's house in Desborough
Street. Very naturally he fell into thinking of these discreet and
well-governed West End streets as a part of his mother's atmosphere.

The house had a dignified portico, and always before he had got down
to the pavement the door opened agreeably and a second respectful
manservant stood ready. Then came the large hall, with its
noiseless carpets and great Chinese jars, its lacquered cabinets and
the wide staircase, and floating down the wide staircase, impatient
to greet him, light and shining as a flower petal, sweet and
welcoming, radiating a joyfulness as cool and clear as a dewy
morning, came his mother. "WELL, little man, my son," she would cry
in her happy singing voice, "WELL?"