At first Jacob Worse did not like leaving his mother on Sunday, but Mrs. Worse said, “Go along, you great stupid! do you suppose that Samuelsen and I care to have you sitting and laughing at us when we are playing draughts; and besides,” said she, giving him a sly poke with her finger, “don’t you know there is somebody out there that expects you?”

“Ah, mother, do stop those insinuations of yours; you know perfectly well nothing will ever come of it.”

“Now, Jacob,” said Mrs. Worse, with her arms akimbo, “you think yourself very clever, but I tell you you are as stupid as an owl, a barn-door owl, when it is anything to do with women.  You ought to see it must all come right some day.  I dare say Miss Rachel is a little bit singular, but she is not quite cracked.  You see, it will all get straight in the end; it will still all come right some day.”

This was the refrain of all Mrs. Worse’s observations on this head, and her son saw plainly it was of no use to contradict her.  It was of no use either to advise her to give up her shop, or, at any rate, to give up the management to somebody else.

“Why, I should die of dropsy,” said she, “and Samuelsen would dry up to nothing in about a fortnight, if we had not got the shop to attend to.”

“Yes,” suggested Jacob, “but still you need not work any longer:  you have earned some rest for your old days; besides, your legs are not so young as they were.”

“As to my legs,” cried Mrs. Worse, with a gesture of impatience, “my legs are quite good enough for a shop-woman.”

“Well, why not get a horse and carriage?  You have every right to have one.”

“I took a drive once that made stir enough,” answered his mother; “I hope to take another some day, but that won’t be before everything comes right.”

It was no use trying to persuade her, and so she and Samuelsen remained in the back premises they were so fond of, and Jacob set up his establishment in the front.

When Mrs. Worse was in her son’s rooms, she used to play the fine lady to her own great edification; but when she got him into her own apartments, her behaviour entirely changed, and her laughter was coarse and noisy.  Her manners had really quite gone.

One Saturday afternoon Delphin came into Jacob Worse’s office with some books he had borrowed.

“Have you heard that I have bought a horse?” asked he, in a merry tone.

“No,” answered Worse.  “What new folly now?”

“Well, you see, I have got an idea that it will make a favourable impression on Miss Madeleine if she sees me on horseback.  Just fancy me on a horse with a long mane and tail, like the picture of General Prim; there!” and he went cantering round the room, and pulled up suddenly before Worse—­“there, like that:  a good fierce expression.  Is not that it?  I believe that will do the business.”

Worse could not help laughing, although he did not think much of the frivolous way Delphin had of paying his addresses to Madeleine.