"Does he hate his father?" said Widdrington, who had not known.
"Oh, good!"

"But his father's dead. He will say it doesn't count."

"Still, it's something. Do you hate yours?"

Ansell did not reply. Rickie said: "I say, I wonder whether one
ought to talk like this?"

"About hating dead people?"

"Yes--"

"Did you hate your mother?" asked Widdrington.

Rickie turned crimson.

"I don't see Hornblower's such a rotter," remarked the other man,
whose name was James.

"James, you are diplomatic," said Ansell. "You are trying to tide
over an awkward moment. You can go."

Widdrington was crimson too. In his wish to be sprightly he had
used words without thinking of their meanings. Suddenly he
realized that "father" and "mother" really meant father and
mother--people whom he had himself at home. He was very
uncomfortable, and thought Rickie had been rather queer. He too
tried to revert to Hornblower, but Ansell would not let him. The