"I didn't arrange it," she remonstrated. "Come to consider, you're as
much to blame as me."

He turned on her, white, his eyes furious.

"What are you old for!" he said, mad with his impotence. "WHY can't you
walk? WHY can't you come with me to places?"

"At one time," she replied, "I could have run up that hill a good deal
better than you."

"What's the good of that to ME?" he cried, hitting his fist on the wall.
Then he became plaintive. "It's too bad of you to be ill. Little, it
is--"

"Ill!" she cried. "I'm a bit old, and you'll have to put up with it,
that's all."

They were quiet. But it was as much as they could bear. They got jolly
again over tea. As they sat by Brayford, watching the boats, he told her
about Clara. His mother asked him innumerable questions.

"Then who does she live with?"

"With her mother, on Bluebell Hill."

"And have they enough to keep them?"

"I don't think so. I think they do lace work."

"And wherein lies her charm, my boy?"

"I don't know that she's charming, mother. But she's nice. And she seems
straight, you know--not a bit deep, not a bit."

"But she's a good deal older than you."

"She's thirty, I'm going on twenty-three."

"You haven't told me what you like her for."

"Because I don't know--a sort of defiant way she's got--a sort of angry
way."

Mrs. Morel considered. She would have been glad now for her son to fall
in love with some woman who would--she did not know what. But he fretted
so, got so furious suddenly, and again was melancholic. She wished he
knew some nice woman--She did not know what she wished, but left it
vague. At any rate, she was not hostile to the idea of Clara.

Annie, too, was getting married. Leonard had gone away to work in
Birmingham. One week-end when he was home she had said to him:

"You don't look very well, my lad."

"I dunno," he said. "I feel anyhow or nohow, ma."

He called her "ma" already in his boyish fashion.

"Are you sure they're good lodgings?" she asked.

"Yes--yes. Only--it's a winder when you have to pour your own tea
out--an' nobody to grouse if you team it in your saucer and sup it up.
It somehow takes a' the taste out of it."

Mrs. Morel laughed.

"And so it knocks you up?" she said.

"I dunno. I want to get married," he blurted, twisting his fingers and
looking down at his boots. There was a silence.

"But," she exclaimed, "I thought you said you'd wait another year."

"Yes, I did say so," he re