surely there is nothing astonishing
in that--and I began to compose the words in which, immediately on the
departure of Mr Nixon after supper, I would tackle my mother on the
subject.

When we had reached the Stilton and celery, I intimated that I must
walk down to the post-office, as I had to dispatch a letter.

'Won't it do tomorrow, my pet?' asked my mother.

'It will not,' I said.

Imagine leaving Agnes two days without news of my safe arrival and
without assurances of my love! I had started writing the letter in the
train, near Willesden, and I finished it in the drawing-room.

'A lady in the case?' Mr Nixon called out gaily.

'Yes,' I replied with firmness.

I went forth, bought a picture postcard showing St Luke's Square,
Bursley, most untruthfully picturesque, and posted the card and the
letter to my darling Agnes. I hoped that Mr Nixon would have departed
ere my return; he had made no reference at all during supper to my
mother's affairs. But he had not departed. I found him solitary in the
drawing-room, smoking a very fine cigar.

'Where's the mater?' I demanded.

'She's just gone out of the room,' he said. 'Come and sit down. Have a
weed. I want a bit of a chat with you, Philip.'

I obeyed, taking one of the very fine cigars.

'Well, Uncle Nixon,' I encouraged him, wishing to get the chat over
because my mind was full of Agnes. I sometimes called him uncle for fun.

'Well, my boy,' he began. 'It's no use me beating about the bush. What
do you think of me as a stepfather?'

I was struck, as they say down there, all of a heap.

'What?' I stammered. 'You don't mean to say--you and mother--?'

He nodded.

'Yes, I do, lad. Yesterday she promised as she'd marry my unworthy
self. It's been coming along for some time. But I don't expect she's
given you any hint in her letters. In fact, I know she hasn't. It would
have been rather difficult, wouldn't it? She couldn't well have
written, "My dear Philip, an old friend, Mr Nixon, is falling in love
with me and I believe I'm falling in love with him. One of these days
he'll be proposing to me." She couldn't have written like that, could
she?'

I laughed. I could not help it.

'Shake hands,' I said warmly. 'I'm delighted.'

And soon afterwards my mother sidled in, shyly.

'The lad's delighted, Sarah,' said Mr Nixon shortly.

I said nothing about my own engagement that night. I had never thought
of my mother as a woman with a future, I had never