"You daren't," he said.
"Daren't I?" she said grimly.
"You'll see.
I don't know where you learn!
It fair beats me.
But it isn't Amy Bates as is going to be sworn at.
As soon as ever your mother comes into this room!"
The door at the foot of the stairs creaked and Constance came into the room.
She was wearing a dress of majenta merino, and a gold chain descended from her neck over her rich bosom.
She had scarcely aged in five years.
It would have been surprising if she had altered much, for the years had passed over her head at an incredible rate.
To her it appeared only a few months since Cyril's first and last party.
"Are you all ready, my pet?
Let me look at you."
Constance greeted the boy with her usual bright, soft energy.
Cyril glanced at Amy, who averted her head, putting spoons into three saucers.
"Yes, mother," he replied in a new voice.
"Did you do what I told you?"
"Yes, mother," he said simply. "That's right."
Amy made a faint noise with her lips, and departed.
He was saved once more.
He said to himself that never again would he permit his soul to be disturbed by any threat of old Ame's.
Constance's hand descended into her pocket and drew out a hard paper packet, which she clapped on to her son's head.
"Oh, mother!" He pretended that she had hurt him, and then he opened the packet.
It contained Congleton butterscotch, reputed a harmless sweetmeat.
"Good!" he cried, "good!
Oh!
Thanks, mother."
"Now don't begin eating them at once."
"Just one, mother."
"No!
And how often have I told you to keep your feet off that fender.
See how it's bent.
And it's nobody but you."
"Sorry."
"It's no use being sorry if you persist in doing it."
"Oh, mother, I had such a funny dream!"
They chatted until Amy came up the stairs with tea and bacon.
The fire had developed from black to clear red.
"Run and tell father that breakfast is ready."
After a little delay a spectacled man of fifty, short and stoutish, with grey hair and a small beard half grey and half black, entered from the shop.
Samuel had certainly very much aged, especially in his gestures, which, however, were still quick.
He sat down at once--his wife and son were already seated--and served the bacon with the rapid assurance of one who needs not to inquire about tastes and appetites.
Not a word was said, except a brief grace by Samuel. But there was no restraint.
Samuel had a mild, benignant air.
Constance's eyes were a fountain of cheerfulness.
The boy sat between them and ate steadily.
Mysterious creature, this child, mysteriously growing and growing in the house!
To his mother he was a delicious joy at all times save when he disobeyed his father.
But now for quite a considerable period there had been no serious collision.