I had asked the same question once at Stonebridge House, I remembered, and then he had almost resented it.
"No, she died when Mary was born, fourteen years ago.

I cannot remember her at all." "Just like me," I said.

"I never saw my mother that I know of.

I say, Jack, let's look at that portrait again." He was delighted to show it to me, and I was glad once more to get a glimpse of that merry face.
"And your father," I inquired, presently, "is he dead too ?" "No!" said Jack, with a sudden return of his old abruptness.
I was perplexed, but it was no use, evidently, pumping my friend with further questions in that direction.

So we proceeded to undress in silence, and were soon in bed.
Presently the other lodgers came up, and then there was no chance of renewing our talk, even if Jack had been so inclined.