At the beginning of these holidays he had already spent a week with Mr. and Mrs. Greene before going to Bournemouth for a month with his mother. But now there still remained a fortnight before going back to school, and a letter had come from his grandmother inviting him to stay again for as long as he could. He opened the subject at breakfast. Dora had been frowning over her newspaper as he read his letter, and she suddenly burst out: "Well I must say I don't see why _The Times_ should report that Rodney and Edith were at the Ledyard wedding, and leave my name out of the list. But some people always manage to get their name in the papers." Edwin realised that the moment was not propitious, but his eagerness carried him beyond the need for discretion. "I say, Mother," he began, "I've got a letter from Grannie asking me to stay for a bit. Could I go to-morrow do you think? There isn't very much of the holidays left." Dora put down her paper and looked at him. "You want to go then, Edwin?" "Rather," Edwin assented heartily. "I'd love it." He stopped dismayed as he saw his mother's hand grope for her handkerchief, and her face slowly crumple into misery. "I did enjoy Bournemouth," he began, "but I just think a little while with Grannie would be nice." Dora burst into tears. "Oh, Edwin," she sobbed, "oh, Edwin. This is a terrible blow to me. You're all I've got, everything I do is for you, and now you say you'd rather be with your Grannie than with me." She sobbed on, as Edwin got up and came round to her end of the table. "Of course I don't mean that," he said. "I'm awfully sorry, Mother; I won't go if you don't want me to, but of course it would be rather decent there." "This is my reward. This is what comes of all my devotion to you. Oh, Edwin, I didn't think you could have hurt me so." "But I've said I won't go. I can't help wanting to, but I've said I won't and I don't see why that hurts you." Dora dried her tears and took his hand. "Oh, my dear," she said, "you'll never know what pain a mother feels when her child wants to leave her. But when I'm dead you'll be glad you offered to stay." She put away her handkerchief and added heroically. "You may go, Edwin; I like you to do what makes you happy." Edwin's face brightened. "May I really, Mother? Thanks most awfully; I'd love it. Do you think I may go to-morrow?" Dora Greene looked pained, but only answered in a fading voice: "Yes, Edwin, you may go to-morrow," and left the room. Edwin felt a little damped, but when he sat down to write to Mrs. Greene that he would arrive the following day, his spirits rose again.