"Who＇s that with me—is it my son?" the old man asked.
"Yes, it＇s your son, daddy."
"And is there no one else?"
"No one else."
Mr. Touchett said nothing for a while; and then, "I want to talk a little," he went on.
"Won＇t it tire you?" Ralph demurred.
"It won＇t matter if it does. I shall have a long rest. I want to talk about you."
Ralph had drawn nearer to the bed; he sat leaning forward with his hand on his father＇s. "You had better select a brighter topic."
"You were always bright; I used to be proud of your brightness. I should like so much to think you＇d do something."