"What has happened?," he shouted. "Why, we have brought into this world as choice a young blackguard as any one is ever likely to meet. Phenton told me so to my face; and I had to agree with him. He said he wished he were young enough to horse-whip the fellow; I said I agreed. He wished the girl had a brother to do it; I said again that I agreed." I really thought it best to let him wear himself out... When a man speaks in that tone about his own son, when a Christian minister talks about horse-whipping people... All these wild words made rather less than _no_ impression on me, as I was quite sure that my boy hadn't written anything that could be used against him. "And what is the outcome of it all?," I ventured to ask, when the storm had abated. "The outcome?" When Arthur is moved, he has a most irritating trick of repeating one's words. For thirty years I have tried to break him of it, but he is obdurate. "You'd better find some woman who'll marry the young scamp and keep him in order. The sooner the better. And I wish her joy of him." When Will returned to Mount Street--he lived at his club until the wild clergyman returned to Morecambe--, I begged for enlightenment, but he would say nothing. For that, I am not ashamed to confess, I respected him; however badly this Molly Phenton (or "Molly Wanton," as _I_ prefer to call her) had behaved, Will was too chivalrous to clear himself at the expense of a woman--and this though I could see that he was worried out of his mind. To a man, _that_ is a law of the Medes and Persians... "Son of mine, you must try to forget the whole thing," I said. "When you are older, I am afraid that some of your ideals will be modified; in future, no doubt, you will be more on your guard; but you will never be secure until you are yourself married." "Oh, I'm open to any offer," said Will, exactly as poor Phyllida had done. I was disquieted, for I could see clearly that he would indeed never feel secure from this girl until he was plighted to another woman. When once a man is "Morning-Posted", as he would say, all other fancied claims dissolve into thin air... The mere sight of the Morecambe post-mark in those days sent my heart into my mouth, and I could see that the strain of this persecution was telling on his nerves. "Ann Spenworth," I said to myself, "you must make up your mind; if he wants to marry Phyllida, you must not stand in the way." ... All my life I have shrunk from the responsibility of interfering with the destiny of a boy and girl in love. The relationship is too delicate, the consequences are too grave. Before Phyllida came, I reviewed the position and decided to make no change.