Finally, after several preliminary hems to clear his throat, Mr. Mathers began: "It is a good thing that the tomatoes are planted; to-morrow you will not work, I suppose."
"I hope I shall, I have all these boxes to clear away."
"Yes, yes, but to-morrow I am going to be married."
Frank did not answer. He raised his eyes and looked straight at his father. His lips quivered and refused to utter a sound.
The son's gaze was more than a match for the father's. Mr. Mathers was not yet so hardened as to laugh and look back defiantly at his son. He, however, recovered his self-composure, tried to make himself believe that he was in his perfect right, and in a well-feigned voice—"Well?" he said interrogatively.
Not a word came from the son's lips; a deep sigh escaped him. He stepped forward and walked out of the greenhouse, leaving his father there—alone.
The couple were quietly married at the Greffe the next day.
Frank went about his work as usual, and when he came in to dine, his step-mother was awaiting him, her face beaming with smiles.
When Frank found himself thus confronted by Mrs. Mathers No. 2, he did not feel nearly so hostile to her as he had felt towards his father.
He could not however welcome her warmly when his heart clamoured otherwise. He was not a hypocrite.