“It can’t box or do exercise as you can. You are getting broad.”
“Rather! Box? I should think not! A kid of a year old boxing! I should like to see it with Jenkins.”
He begin to giggle. By the time Mrs. Clarke returned and they sat down to the real jam tea, the ice was in fragments.
“I believe you were right, mater, and it was all the kid that prevented Mr. Leith from sticking to his promise,” Jimmy announced, as he helped Dion to “the strawberry,” with a liberality which betokened an affection steadfast even under the stress of blighting circumstances.
“Of course I was right,” returned his mother gravely.
Dion was rather glad that she looked away from him as she said it.
Her manner to him was unchanged. Evidently she was a woman not quick to take offense. He liked that absence of all “touchiness” from her, and felt that a man could rest comfortably on her good breeding. But this very good breeding increased within him a sense of discomfort which amounted almost to guilt. He tried to smother it by being very jolly with Jimmy, to whom he devoted most of his attention. When tea was over Mrs. Clarke said to her son:
“Now, Jimmy, you must go away for a little while and let me have a talk with Mr. Leith.”
“Oh, mater, that’s not fair. Mr. Leith’s my pal. Aren’t you, Mr. Leith? Why, even Jenkins says—”
“I should rather think so. Why—”