"You said once you'd love me whatever I did." "Aye. What have you been doing?" "I'm married." "Losh!" Tibby dropped her pen and turned sorrowful eyes of wonder upon him. Bennett jingled the money in his pocket. "I'm married," he said. "I'm very happy." "Och! The foolishness of men! Married! Laddie, ye'll never have a son as young as yourself." "I'm married," said Bennett, "and I'm going to be very happy, and I don't care what . . ." "Have you told your mother?" "No." "Better tell her at once. You'll break your neck over it. I'll finish this and then I'll think it out. . . . Married! Losh!" She turned to her work again, and the pen scratched and spluttered. Bennett reached the door when she called to him: "Laddie." He turned. "If ye love the lassie, ye've no call to be afeard. There's always a way. There's no way where no love is." "I love her," said Bennett unconsciously dramatic and absurd. "I love her as my life." "God bless ye." * * * Fortified by her benison and also by having once told his immense secret Bennett passed swiftly to the drawing-room. He found his mother sitting in her chair in the middle of the room with a cat in her lap. He stooped and kissed her. "I've got some news for you!" "Sit down. You don't come and talk to me as often as you might." There was an unusual geniality in her voice that made it easy for him to go on. "I've had a rise." "That's good. They must be pleased with you. How much?" "Five shillings a week." "That's very good. You shall have a shilling a week more for your pocket-money. I'm glad you're doing so well. You can keep five shillings for yourself this month." "That isn't all my news." "What else?" "I want to keep it all." "Nonsense. You can't do that." "I must. You see. I haven't told you everything. You see . . . I shall want my money now. I'm--what I wanted to tell you is that--that . . ." He gave a little nervous giggle that exasperated his mother and set her tapping with her foot on the floor. "I'm--you see--I'm married." Her mouth dropped. Her hands waved weakly in the air. She got up and went and stood for a long time--it seemed a very long time--by the window. Without turning she said: "Who is the woman?" "Her name is Annette. Annette Folyat." "I might have known it. . . Will you ask your father to come here?" "Father's out." Bennett felt that his cause was lost. Only in the most desperate cases was his father's presence over requested in the drawing-room. "Tibby then." She went to the door and with extraordinary power of the lungs shouted for the old servant. Tibby came shuffling. She was dressed to go out, in bonnet and shawl, and had an envelope in her hand. "I'm in haste," she said. "Tibby, what's to be done? Bennett has married one of the daughters of that High Church popery priest. What am I to do?" "What can you do?" "It can't go on. It's miserable folly. It's ruin. It's beggary. . . . Where were you married? When?" She pounced on Bennett.