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comes as a surprise, naturally. You will tell me no doubt that I was the cause of your giving it up.’ She turned round and looked at him, smiled, and it was not without bitterness, and then turned her back upon him again. The man knocked out his pipe. The silence was broken, therefore the smoking of a pipe seemed quite out of place, at least to Mr. Dennis Fury, who held that a pipe can only be smoked properly when one is content. Somehow the waters of content had flowed over his head. He looked at his watch. There was that pint to have at ‘The Star and Garter,’ a traditional ritual that must be observed whatever the cost. Putting the pipe away, he moved up nearer his wife. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m in earnest. You can choose between the boy and me. Nobody was more surprised than I when he turned up again. I thought he would have sense to keep away. After the trouble he’s caused. Come to think of it, I have every right to say this. I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, and I never have. I have always been contented.’
    â€˜What a bitter truth!’ said Mrs. Fury. ‘Well, go on.’
    â€˜I’ll be contented now. But not with him in the house. For the love of Christ get this out of your head—this crazy idea that Peter is still a boy. He isn’t. He’s a man. He’s eighteen now. You can’t have your cake and eat it. Hanged I am if I understand. After all that’s happened—you hang on—you hang on’—he spoke these words through closed teeth—‘you hang on like grim death. You think that everything will come right in the end. But what is everything? What is right? That we should waste our years away just to please our children. To have the satisfaction of thinking we’ve still got them—they’re still ours. Still our children. Don’t be daft, Fanny. You’re always crying out for peace, yet you haven’t the patience to be content when it comes along. Make no mistake at all. If that fellow has the same feelings for us as he had five years ago, then I’m a bloody Frenchman. Well, I’m not going into any pasts or looking into any future. I’m looking at now—this day and this minute, and I’m making up my mind on a subject which must be gnawing the heart out of you. Be reasonable. Let the lad go. Be honest! Ask him straight to his face if he is content, if he likes being at home. You’ll get your answer soon enough. But I rather think you’re afraid to ask that. It might be so true for you. Understand this. I said I’m going away. It won’t take me five minutes to get a ship.’
    â€˜Get your ship and go,’ replied the woman. She spoke quite calmly, without trace of anger or disappointment. It was almost as though she had momentarily expected it.
    â€˜All right,’ replied the man. ‘I’ll skip off for a wet. Maybe you can think over things better when I am gone.’
    He got up and without another word left the park. She followed his retreating figure with half-closed eyes. Then she completely relaxed, and made herself more comfortable upon the bench. An old man joined her, and soon the rhythmic tapping of his stick began to beat upon her brain. She, too, got up and went off. She walked quickly towards Hatfields. Another argument, and an unfinished one. They were all like that. No doubt Denny was thinking over the matter, sitting before his historic pint of beer in ‘The Star and Garter.’ As she passed up the back entrance of Hatfields the woman paused, stamped her foot, and exclaimed, ‘I’d like to fly.’ Then she passed into the house. Her son was sitting at a table, busily engaged in making a rope mat. He looked up as she entered and said, ‘Hello, Mother.’
    â€˜Hello,’ she said, and sat down without removing her clothes. She looked at the figure of an old man seated in a black high-backed chair.