'What is it, Kenneth?'

'You're a woman.'

'I had near forgot it.'

He wishes he was at the station with Dixon. Dixon is sure to have a
bottle in his pocket. They will be roaring a song presently. But in
the meantime--there is that son business. Blethers, the whole thing,
of course--or mostly blethers. But it's the way to please her.

'Have you noticed you have never called me son?'

'Have I noticed it! I was feared, Kenneth. You said I was on probation.'

'And so you were. Well, the probation's ended.' He laughs uncomfortably.
'The like of me! But if you want me you can have me.'

'Kenneth, will I do?'

'Woman,' artfully gay, 'don't be so forward. Wait till I have proposed.'

'Propose for a mother?'

'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.