‘What for no?’ In the grand style, ‘Mrs. Dowey, you queer carl, you spunky tiddy, have I your permission to ask you the most important question a neglected orphan can ask of an old lady?’
She bubbles with mirth. Who could help it, the man has such a way with him.
‘None of your sauce, Kenneth.’
‘For a long time, Mrs. Dowey, you cannot have been unaware of my sonnish feelings for you.’
‘Wait till I get my mop to you!’
‘And if you’re not willing to be my mother, I swear I’ll never ask another.’
The old divert pulls him down to her and strokes his hair.
‘Was I a well-behaved infant, mother?’
‘Not you, sonny, you were a rampaging rogue.’
‘Was I slow in learning to walk?’