names of the boys and especially of
any who were at all intimate with her son; the more she heard, the more
she wanted to know; there was no gorging her to satiety; she was like a
ravenous young cuckoo being fed upon a grass plot by a water wag-tail,
she would swallow all that Ernest could bring her, and yet be as hungry
as before. And she always went to Ernest for her meals rather than to
Joey, for Joey was either more stupid or more impenetrable--at any rate
she could pump Ernest much the better of the two.

From time to time an actual live boy had been thrown to her, either by
being caught and brought to Battersby, or by being asked to meet her if
at any time she came to Roughborough. She had generally made herself
agreeable, or fairly agreeable, as long as the boy was present, but as
soon as she got Ernest to herself again she changed her note. Into
whatever form she might throw her criticisms it came always in the end to
this, that his friend was no good, that Ernest was not much better, and
that he should have brought her someone else, for this one would not do
at all.

The more intimate the boy had been or was supposed to be with Ernest the
more he was declared to be naught, till in the end he had hit upon the
plan of saying, concerning any boy whom he particularly liked, that he
was not one of his especial chums, and that indeed he hardly knew why he
had asked him; but he found he only fell on Scylla in trying to avoid
Charybdis, for though the boy was declared to be more successful it was
Ernest who was naught for not thinking more highly of him.

When she had once got hold of a name she never forgot it. "And how is So-
and-so?" she would exclaim, mentioning some former friend of Ernest's
with whom he had either now quarrelled, or who had long since proved to
be a mere comet and no fixed star at all. How Ernest wished he had never
mentioned So-and-so's name, and vowed to himself that he would never talk
about his friends in future, but in a few hours he would forget and would
prattle away as imprudently as ever; then his mother would pounce
noiselessly on his remarks as a barn-owl pounces upon a mouse, and would
bring them up in a pellet six months afterwards when they were no longer
in harmony with their surroundings.

Then there was Theobald. If a boy or college friend had been invited to
Battersby, Theobald would lay himself out at first to be agreeable. He
could do this well enough when he liked,