"Where is mass to be said?"
Robin drew along breath, lifted his eyes to his father's and then dropped them again.
"Did you hear me, sir? Where is mass to be said?"
Again Robin lifted and again dropped his eyes.
"What is the priest's name?"
Again there was dead silence. For a son, in those days, so to behave towards his father, was an act of very defiance. Yet the father said nothing. There the two remained; Robin with his eyes on the ground, expecting a storm of words or a blow in the face. Yet he knew he could do no otherwise; the moment had come at last and he must act as he would be obliged always to act hereafter.
Matters had matured swiftly in the boy's mind, all unconsciously to himself. Perhaps it was the timid air of the priest he had met an hour ago that consummated the process. At least it was so consummated.
Then his father turned suddenly on his heel; and the son went out trembling.