"Bridegroom?"
Thomas Dilworth got on his feet and swore. Miss Helen Hayes—or, no; Mrs. Edwin Dilworth—came and hung upon his arm.
"THOMAS DILWORTH GOT ON HIS FEET AND SWORE"
"You won't mind very much? You'll forgive him? We couldn't tell, because—because papa would have interfered; but I knew your dear, kind heart. Mrs. Dilworth, I have so revered Mr. Dilworth!—that was one reason I said yes. You'll let me be your little girl, Mr. Dilworth?"
"Little—grandmother!" said Tom Dilworth; and burst into a roar of laughter; then stopped, and said through his set teeth to his son, "You scoundrel!"
"Thomas—don't!" the mother entreated. "He has come back."
"He'd better have stayed away!" Thomas said, furiously, in all the anger of suddenly relieved pain.
"Oh, dear Mrs. Dilworth," Helen murmured, "forgive us! He ought to have written—I ought to have reminded him. But—you understand? I know you do. Just these first beautiful days, one forgets everything."