And now Bealby, having been regarded with approval for some moments and discussed in tantalizing undertones, was called upon to explain himself.
“Boy,” said the lady in the deerstalker, who was evidently the leader and still more evidently the spokeswoman of the party, “come here.”
“Yes, miss.” He put down the boot he was cleaning on the caravan step.
“In the first place, know by these presents, I am a married woman.”
“Yes, miss.”
“And miss is not a seemly mode of address for me.”
“No, miss. I mean—” Bealby hung for a moment and by the happiest of accidents, a scrap of his instruction at Shonts came up in his mind. “No,” he said, “your—ladyship.”
A great light shone on the spokeswoman’s face. “Not yet, my child,” she said, “not yet. He hasn’t done his duty by me. I am—a simple Mum.”
Bealby was intelligently silent.
“Say—Yes, Mum.”