I even offered him back the half interest he had sold to me. So I asks the maid a few questions like, and it seems it ain’t Mister Charvill they’re going to visit again, but General Charvill. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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