I
The honeymoon at Ballyards had been a triumph for Eleanor. Uncle
William had immediately surrendered to her, making, indeed, no pretence
to resist her. She had demanded his company on a boating excursion on
the Lough, and when he had turned to her, sitting behind him in the bow
of the boat, and had said, "This is great health! It's the first time
I've been in a boat these years and years!" she had retorted
indignantly, "The first time! But why?"
"Och ... busy!" he had explained.
She had called to John, sitting with his mother in the stern, and
demanded an explanation of the causes which prevented Uncle William
from taking holidays like other people.
"Sure, he likes work!" said John.
"Nobody likes work to that extent," Eleanor replied, and then Mrs.
MacDermott gave the explanation. "There's no one else but him to do
it," she said. "Uncle Matthew had his head full of romantic dreams and
John fancied himself in other ways, so Uncle William had to do it all
by himself!"
John flushed, and was angry with his mother for speaking in this way
before Eleanor. He felt that she was stating the case unfairly. Had he
not once offered to quit from his monitorial work to help in the shop
and had not his offer been firmly refused?...
"There'll be no need for Uncle William to work hard when my play is
produced," he said.
"Ah, quit blethering about hard work," Uncle William exclaimed, bending
to the oars. "Sure, I'd be demented mad if I hadn't my work to do. What
would an old fellow like me do gallivanting up and down the shore in my
bare feet, paddling like a child in the water! Have sense, do, all of
you. Eleanor, I'm surprised at you trying to make a loafer out of me!"
She leant forward and pulled him suddenly backwards and he fell into
the bottom of the boat. "We'll all be drowned," he shouted. "I'll cowp
the boat if you assault me again!..."
"What does 'cowp' mean?" she demanded.
"In God's name, girl, where were you brought up not to know what 'cowp'
means! Upset!" said he.
"Well, why don't you say upset, you horrible old Orangeman," she
retorted.
"I'm no Orangeman," he giggled at her. "I wouldn't own the name!"
"You are. You are. You say your prayers every night to King William and
Carson!..."
"Ah, you're the tormenting wee tory, so you are! Here, take a hold of
these oars and do something for your living!"
She had changed places with Uncle William, and John felt very proud of
her as he observed the skilful way in which she handled the oars. Her
strokes were clean and strong and deliberate. She did not thrust the
oars too deeply into the water nor did she pull them, impotently along
the surface nor did she lean too heavily on one oar so that the boat
was drawn too much to one side or sent ungainly to this side and to
that in an exhausting effort to keep a straight course. He lay back
against his mother and regarded Eleanor out of half-shut eyes. She
mystified him. Her timidity when he had first spoken to her had seemed
to him then to be her chief characteristic and it had caused him to
feel tenderly for her: he would be her protector. But she was not
always timid. He had discovered courage in her and something uncommonly
like obstinacy of mind. She uttered opinions which startled him, less
because of the flimsy grounds on which they were built, than because of
the queer chivalry that made her utter them. She defended the weak
because they were weak, whereas he would have had her defend the truth
because it was the truth. The attacked had her sympathy, whether they
were in the right or in the wrong, and John demanded that sympathy
should be given only to those who were in the right even if they
happened also to be the stronger of the contestants. He had seen her
behaving with extraordinary calmness at a time when he had been certain
that she would show signs of hysteria, and while he was marvelling at
her imperturbability, he had heard her screaming with fright at the
sight of an ear-wig. He had rushed to her help, imagining that she was
in terrible danger, and had found her trembling and shuddering because
this pitiful insect had crawled on to her dressing-gown.... He had been
very frightened when he heard her screaming to him for help, and he
suffered so strange a reaction when he discovered that her trouble was
trivial that he lost his temper. "Don't be such a fool," he said,
putting his foot on the ear-wig. "You couldn't have made more noise if
someone had been murdering you!"
"I hate ear-wigs!" she replied, still shuddering. "I hate all crawly
things. Oh-h-h!"
And here was another aspect of her: her skill in doing things that
required effort and thought. She handled a boat better than he could
handle it. He was more astonished at this feat than he had been when he
discovered that she had great skill in managing a house and in cooking
food, for he assumed that all women were inspired by Almighty God with
a genius for housekeeping and that only a deliberately sinful nature
prevented a woman from serving her husband with an excellently-prepared
dinner. In a vague way, he had imagined that Eleanor would need
instruction in housekeeping, but that she would "soon pick it up." Any
woman could "soon pick it up." His mother, he decided, would give tips
to Eleanor while they were at Ballyards, and thereafter things would go
very smoothly. He had determined that the flat at Hampstead which they
had rented should be furnished according to his taste so that there
should be no mistake about it; but when they began to choose furniture,
he found that Eleanor had better judgment than he had, and he wisely
deferred to her opinion. He was inclined, he discovered, to accept
things which he disliked or did not want rather than take the trouble
to get only the things he desired and appreciated; but Eleanor had no
compunction in making a disinterested shop-assistant run about and
fetch and carry until she had either obtained the thing for which she
wished or was satisfied that it was not in the shop. John always had a
sense of shame at leaving a shop without making a purchase when the
assistant had been given much bother in their behalf; but Eleanor said
that this was silliness. "That's what he's there for," she said of the
shop-assistant. "I'm not going to buy things I don't want just because
you're afraid of hurting his feelings!"
He began to feel, while they were furnishing their flat, that she knew
her own mind at least as well as he knew his, and a fear haunted his
thoughts that perhaps this adequacy of knowledge might bring trouble to
them. Gradually he found himself consulting her as an equal, even
accepting her advice, and seldom instructing her as one instructs a
beloved pupil. When she required advice, she asked for it. At
Ballyards, he had seen his mother quickening into zestful life because
of Eleanor's desire to be informed of things. One evening he had come
home from a visit to Mr. Cairnduff to find Eleanor seated on the high
stool in the "Counting House" of the shop while Uncle William explained
the working of the business to her.
"She's a great wee girl, that!" Uncle William said afterwards to John.
"The great wee girl! You've done well for yourself marrying her, my
son. She's a well-brought-up girl ... a girl with a family ... and
that's more nor you could say for some of the women you might 'a'
married. That Logan girl, now!..."
"I'd never have married her," John interrupted.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't. They're no family at all, the Logans ...
just a dragged-up, thrown-together lot. They've no pride in themselves.
They'd marry anybody, that family would. Willie's away to the bad
altogether ... drinking and gambling and worse ... and Aggie got
married on a traveller from Belfast, and two hours after she married
the man, he was dead drunk. He's been drunk ever since, they say. Aw,
she's a poor mouth, that woman, and not fit to hold a candle to
Eleanor. I'm thankful glad you've married a sensible woman with her
head on the right way, and not one of these flyaway pieces you see
knocking around these times. I'd die of despair to see you married to a
woman with no more gumption than an old hen!..."