"What?" he said absently.
She began again, but he interrupted. "I heard you, but why do you ask?"
"I was just asking, Dad."
"Did you ask your mother?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And she said it was because you snored."
"So now you know."
"Yes."
"Any more questions Kit, or can I get on with earning my living and making up compounds?"
"Why did you and Mam get married?"
"Because we loved each other, and still love each other."
"How did you know?"
"You know, Kit, that's it. I'm afraif it's not very satisfactory, but that's the only way I can explain it. Like I saw your mother at a friend's house in Dublin, and I thought, isn't she lovely and nice and fun and wouldn't it be great if she did go out with me. And she did, over and over, and then I asked her to marry me and she said yes."
He seemed to be telling it from the heart.
Kit wasn't convinced. "And did Mam feel the same?"
"Well, darling child. She must have felt the same. I mean, there was nobody with a great big stick saying you must marry this young chemist from Lough Glass who loves you to distraction. Her paents were dead; she didn't do it to please anyone, because I was a safe bet or anything."
"Were you a safe bet, Daddy?"
"I was a man with a steady job. In 1939, with the world on the edge of the war and everyone very confused by everything, a man with a good job was always a safe bet. Still is."
"And were you surprised that she said yes?"
"No, darling, I wasn't surprised, not at that stage. We loved each other, you see. I know it's not like the pictures, or the things you youngsters giggle about, but that's what it was for us."
Kit was silent.
"What is it Kit? Why are you asking all this?"
"Nothing, Daddy. You know the way you get to wondering, that's all."