CHAPTER III

MARRYING OFF A MOTHER


"Yes," said Helen Rathbone, "mother fell in love. Don't you think it was
funny?"

"That's as may be," James Ollerenshaw replied, in his quality of the
wiseacre who is accustomed to be sagacious on the least possible
expenditure of words.

"We both thought it was awfully funny," Helen said.

"Both? Who else is there?"

"Why, mother and I, of course! We used to laugh over it. You see, mother
is a very simple creature. And she's only forty-four."

"She's above forty-four," James corrected.

"She _told_ me she was thirty-nine five years ago," Helen protested.

"Did she tell ye she was forty, four years ago?"

"No. At least, I don't remember."

"Did she ever tell ye she was forty?"