Demo looked up at his mother, rolled over and pulled the blankets close. Such strange dreams.
His fingers gingerly rubbed the lump on his head.
Theresa entered the room timidly, eyes downcast.
"Is Demo home. I need to talk to him."
Metaneira's eyes held a question? "He's out back with Rough. Is something wrong?"
"I . . . I like Demo. I really wouldn't hurt him for the world. I am sorry, I . . . . Please, I can't marry him. Metaneira, I am sorry. There is another. Oh, what can I say, what shall I do!"
"Theresa, don't cry. Perhaps all will work out for the best. But, yes, you should tell him. He is a brave lad. I'm sure he will take it like a man. Why don't you wipe your eyes, then go out back and talk to him. Be brave, girl!"
As Theresa went out the back door Metaneira looked up, shook her fist. "Athena, you are a conniver. Who have you sent to poor Theresa? I should have known. Oh, well, you may make a delightful daughter-in-law."
She shook her head, looked out the back door.
Theresa and Demo were standing quietly, his arms around her.