MRS. TWYMLEY. 'I'm sure,' heartily, 'we don't grudge you your treats, Mrs. Dowey; and sorry we are that this is the end.' DOWEY. 'Yes, it's the end,' with a troubled look at his old lady; 'I must be off in ten minutes.' The little soul is too gallant to break down in company. She hurries into the pantry and shuts the door. MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'Poor thing! But we must run, for you'll be having some last words to say to her.' DOWEY. 'I kept her out long on purpose so as to have less time to say them in.' He more than half wishes that he could make a bolt to a public-house. MRS. TWYMLEY. 'It's the best way.' In the important affairs of life there is not much that any one can teach a charwoman. 'Just a mere nothing, to wish you well, Mr. Dowey.' All three present him with the cigarettes. MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'A scraping, as one might say.' THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. 'The heart,' enigmatically, 'is warm though it may not be gold-tipped.' DOWEY. 'You bricks!' THE LADIES. 'Good luck, cocky.' DOWEY. 'The same to you. And if you see a sodger man up there in a kilt, he is one that is going back with me. Tell him not to come down, but--but to give me till the last minute, and then to whistle.' It is quite a grave man who is left alone, thinking what to do next. He tries a horse laugh, but that proves of no help. He says 'Hell!' to himself, but it is equally ineffective. Then he opens the pantry door and calls. 'Old lady.' She comes timidly to the door, her hand up as if to ward off a blow. 'Is it time?' An encouraging voice answers her. 'No, no, not yet. I've left word for Dixon to whistle when go I must.' 'All is ended.' 'Now, then, you promised to be gay. We were to help one another.' 'Yes, Kenneth.' 'It's bad for me, but it's worse for you.' 'The men have medals to win, you see.' 'The women have their medals, too.' He knows she likes him to order her about, so he tries it again. 'Come here. No, I'll come to you.' He stands gaping at her wonderingly. He has no power of words, nor does he quite know what he would like to say. 'God!' 'What is it, Kenneth?' 'You're a woman.' 'I had near forgot it.' He wishes he was at the station with Dixon. Dixon is sure to have a bottle in his pocket. They will be roaring a song presently. But in the meantime--there is that son business. Blethers, the whole thing, of course--or mostly blethers. But it's the way to please her. 'Have you noticed you have never called me son?' 'Have I noticed it! I was feared, Kenneth. You said I was on probation.' 'And so you were. Well, the probation's ended.' He laughs uncomfortably. 'The like of me! But if you want me you can have me.' 'Kenneth, will I do?' 'Woman,' artfully gay, 'don't be so forward. Wait till I have proposed.' 'Propose for a mother?' 'What for no?' In the grand style, 'Mrs. Dowey, you queer carl, you spunky tiddy, have I your permission to ask you the most important question a neglected orphan can ask of an old lady?'