Much of that early time was passed at Ravensham, for he had
always been Lady Casterley's favourite grandchild. She recognized in
him the purposeful austerity which had somehow been omitted from the
composition of her daughter. But only to Clifton, then a man of fifty
with a great gravity and long black whiskers, did Eustace relieve
his soul. "I tell you this, Clifton," he would say, sitting on the
sideboard, or the arm of the big chair in Clifton's room, or wandering
amongst the raspberries, "because you are my friend."
And Clifton, with his head a little on one side, and a sort of wise
concern at his 'friend's' confidences, which were sometimes of an
embarrassing description, would answer now and then: "Of course, my
lord," but more often: "Of course, my dear."
There was in this friendship something fine and suitable, neither of
these 'friends' taking or suffering liberties, and both being interested
in pigeons, which they would stand watching with a remarkable attention.
In course of time, following the tradition of his family, Eustace went
to Harrow. He was there five years--always one of those boys a little
out at wrists and ankles, who may be seen slouching, solitary, along
the pavement to their own haunts, rather dusty, and with one shoulder
slightly raised above the other, from the habit of carrying something
beneath one arm.
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