"Now this is better than I thought it could be!" she cried.
But he hated it. Everywhere he followed her, brooding. They sat together in the cathedral. They attended a little service in the choir. She was timid.
"I suppose it is open to anybody?" she asked him.
"Yes," he replied. "Do you think they'd have the damned cheek to send us away."
"Well, I'm sure," she exclaimed, "they would if they heard your language."
Her face seemed to shine again with joy and peace during the service. And all the time he was wanting to rage and smash things and cry.
Afterwards, when they were leaning over the wall, looking at the town below, he blurted suddenly:
"Why can't a man have a young mother? What is she old for?"
"Well," his mother laughed, "she can scarcely help it."
"And why wasn't I the oldest son? Look—they say the young ones have the advantage—but look, they had the young mother. You should have had me for your eldest son."