"My loved one, mother's so dreadfully sorry. Never mind. The doctor will soon be here. Could you open your mouth and let mother look at it? All right, my sweetheart, don't agitate yourself. I won't fuss you, but when the doctor comes you must try to let him see what's the matter. Darling boy, mother's so dreadfully sorry it hurts." She sat by the bed keeping the yellow curls from his eyes and soothing him with her voice. Presently nurse came back. "Pinkney's gone just as she is, ma'am, without waiting to pop on anything. Let's hope Dr. Marlow is at home. And what about the gentleman in the drawing-room, do you wish for him to do anything?" "Apologize to him, please, nurse, from me for leaving him so abruptly and explain about Master Richard. Say how sorry I am not to be able to say good night myself. How very sorry.... What is it, Richard darling? It's mother beside you. Try to lie still, dearest. I know it hurts horribly. But try to lie still." _Chapter Five_ THE MOTHER _Chapter Five: The Mother_ In the rich light of a September afternoon of the year 1900 Mary Alison slowly paced the grass walk along the phlox border at High Corner, wondering why everybody was so late for tea, even Jemmie, who nowadays was not often late for a meal. At that moment her husband appeared, looking as hot and red as the reddest phlox in the border. "Tea ready?" he gasped. "By George, I'm baked!" He slipped his overheated tweed-covered arm into hers so cool in its muslin; thus, affectionately, they strolled together in the direction of the big mulberry tree on the lawn, beneath whose shade, notwithstanding the way the ripe fruit at this season sometimes tumbled into the cups, they always sat for tea. "You know, I'll tell you what it is," said Jemmie, cramming his mouth with bread and butter. "I'll tell you what it is, Mary. I took up golf too late. That's what I did. Too old. I shall never be any good at it. I'd give it up, if I didn't think it kept my weight down." "But I think it's so clever of you to play at all," said his wife consolingly. "I was thinking I should have to take it up myself. Women are beginning to play quite a lot everywhere. I'm sure I should never get on half so well as you did when you began." "Ah, you're too sympathetic, my dear. Yes, that's what you are. You should hear Muriel sneering at her poor old father's efforts. As for Geoffrey, he declines to play with me. 'Pon my word, he does. Yes, he told me last week that people on the links stared so. I said, 'They stare at your ties, my boy.' Ha-ha! I rather had him there, I flatter myself. Ha-ha-ha! Yes, I said, 'It's your ties and stockings that make 'em stare, my boy, not your father's driving.' By the way, where are the two of them?"