'A lady in the case?' Mr Nixon called out gaily.
'Yes,' I replied with firmness.
I went forth, bought a picture postcard showing St Luke's Square,
Bursley, most untruthfully picturesque, and posted the card and
the letter to my darling Agnes. I hoped that Mr Nixon would have
departed ere my return; he had made no reference at all during
supper to my mother's affairs. But he had not departed. I found
him solitary in the drawing-room, smoking a very fine cigar.
'Where's the mater?' I demanded.
'She's just gone out of the room,' he said. 'Come and sit down.
Have a weed. I want a bit of a chat with you, Philip.'
I obeyed, taking one of the very fine cigars.
'Well, Uncle Nixon,' I encouraged him, wishing to get the chat
over because my mind was full of Agnes. I sometimes called him
uncle for fun.
'Well, my boy,' he began. 'It's no use me beating about the bush.
What do you think of me as a stepfather?'
I was struck, as they say down there, all of a heap.
'What?' I stammered. 'You don't mean to say--you and mother--?'
He nodded.
'Yes, I do, lad. Yesterday she promised as she'd marry my unworthy
self. It's been coming along for some time. But I don't expect
she's given you any hint in her letters. In fact, I know she
hasn't. It would have been rather difficult, wouldn't it? She
couldn't well have written, "My dear Philip, an old friend, Mr
Nixon, is falling in love with me and I believe I'm falling in
love with him.
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