IV

There was a letter for John in the morning. His subtenant wrote to say

that he liked the flat and found it so convenient that he was very

anxious to know whether there was a chance of John giving up possession

of it. He was willing to buy the furniture at a fair valuation!...

"Damned cheek," said John. He told the others of the contents of the

letter.

"If we were to stay here," Eleanor said, "that offer would be very

useful, wouldn't it?"

"It's of no use to us," he answered. "We're not going to stay here!"

In the afternoon, a telegram came from Clotworthy instructing John to

return to London immediately. "Will you come with me or come later by

yourself?" John said to Eleanor.

She hesitated for a few moments, then going quickly to him and putting

her arms about his neck, she whispered, "I don't want to go back to

London, John. I want to stay here!"

"You what?"

"I want to stay here. Oh, give up this work and stay at home. Your

Uncle is getting old and needs help, and I'll be much happier here than

in London!..."

"Give up writing!..."

"You'll be able to do some writing here if you want to!"

"Uncle William hasn't time to take a holiday. What time will I have to

write if I take on his work?"

"He has no one to help him. I'll help you!"

"The thing's absurd!"

"No, it isn't. I like being in the shop. I've helped Uncle William a

lot. I've made suggestions!..."

"My mother put this idea into your head!"

"No, she didn't. She's talked to me about Ballyards, of course, and the

MacDermotts and the shop, but she has not asked me to stay here. It's

my own idea. I like this little town, John, and its quiet ways and the

comfort of this house. I've always wanted comfort and quietness, and

I've got it here. I don't want to go back to the misery of London ...

always wondering whether we shall have enough money to pay our bills,

and you out half the night. Oh, let's stay here!"

He put her away from him. "No," he said obstinately. "I'm not going to

give in!..."

"I'm not asking you to give in!"

"You are. You're asking me to come back here where everybody knows me

and knows what I went out to do, and you're asking me to admit to them

that I've failed!"

"No, no, dear!..."

"Yes, you are. Because I haven't made a fortune at the start, you all

think I'm a failure. Hasn't every man had to struggle and fight for his

position, and amn't I fighting and struggling for mine? If you cared

for me!..."

"I do care for you, John!"

"Then you'd be glad to fight with me ... and struggle!..."

"Yes, I am prepared to fight with you ... but I'm not going to take

risks with the baby!..."

"What's he got to do with it?"

She turned on him angrily. "Are you willing to let him suffer for your

books, too? Do you think I'm going to let my child go without things to

feed your pride?..."

"He won't have to go without things. I'll earn enough for him and for

you."

"Yes, I know. We've seen something of that already. Well, I'm not going

back to London, John. I'm simply not going back. You can't expect me to

go from this house where I'm happy to that little poky flat in

Hampstead and sit there night after night while you are at the

office!..."

"Other women do it, don't they?"

"Other women can do what they like. If they're content to live like

that, they can, but I'm not content. I don't like that life, and I

won't live it. You must make up your mind to that. It isn't necessary

for you to go back to the _Sensation_ office--you can stay here

and help Uncle William!"

"Become a grocer!..."

"Why not? Isn't it better to be a good grocer than a bad novelist?"

His face flushed and he breathed very heavily. "You're all against me,

the whole lot of you. You make little of me. I get no help or

encouragement at all. My ma and you and Hinde!..."

"If you were good at that work, you would not need encouragement, would

you?"

"I don't need it. I can do without it. I'll prove to you yet that I can

write as well as anybody. Never you fear, Eleanor!..."

"I'm not going back to London," she said.

"Well, then, you can stay behind. I'll go back by myself!"

Mrs. MacDermott came into the room. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," John replied. "I'm going back to London this evening.

Eleanor says she's going to stay here!..."

"For good?"

"Aye ... for good."

"And you? When are you coming back?"

"I'm not coming back. She'll have to come to me. You're always talking

about the pride of the MacDermotts. Well, I'll show you some of it.

I'll not put my foot inside this house till Eleanor comes back to me.

It's me that settles where we live ... not her ... not anybody. Do you

think I'm going to throw up everything now when I've made a start? I've

a new book coming out soon. You know that well ... the whole of you. I

know you don't think much of it, Eleanor!..."

"I didn't say that," she interjected.

"But I think a lot of it. I know it's good. I'm sure it's good. And if

it does well. I'll be able to leave the _Sensation_ office, and we

can live happily together ... but you'll have to come to me. I won't

come here to you!..."

He turned to his mother. "Mebbe you're content now," he said. "You've

got your way. There's a MacDermott in the house to carry on the

business when he's old enough. You'll not need me now!"

He went out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and a little

while later, they heard him leaving the house.

"Wait, daughter," said Mrs. MacDermott, taking hold of Eleanor by the

hand. "Don't fret yourself, daughter, dear. I lived with his

father!..."

"But he always had his own way. You told me so yourself."

"Yes, that's true, but John has some of my blood in him, and my blood

clings to its home. Content yourself a wee while!"

V

He met Uncle William crossing the Square, and suddenly he realised how

old Uncle William was, and how tired he looked.

"Come a piece of the road with me," he said, putting his arm in his

Uncle's. "Eleanor and me have just have a fall-out, and I want to walk

my anger off. I'm going back to London to-night!..."

"You're going soon, aren't you?"

"Yes. I had a telegram from the office a while ago. Eleanor doesn't

want to go home. She wants to stay here!"

"Aye, she's well content with us!"

"But her place is with me. I'm her husband!..."

"Indeed, you are. A wife's place is with her husband. It's a pity you

can't agree to be in the same place!

"Listen, John," he went on, as they came away from the town and

strolled along the road leading to the Lough, "there's a thing I'm

going to tell you that I've never said to no one before. It's this. The

thing that destroyed your father and your Uncle Matthew was their pride

in themselves. They never stopped to consider other people. They did

what they wanted to do regardless of how it affected their neighbours

or their friends. And nothing came out of their work. Your father died

and left an angry memory behind him. Your Uncle Matthew died and left

nothing but a wrong view of things to you. Your mother ... well, I

hardly know what to say about her. She's had much to thole, and it's

made her bitter in her mind, and many's a time I think she's demented

about the pride of the MacDermotts. I'm proud of my name, too, and

proud of the respect we've earned for ourselves, but I'm old and tired,

John, and I've nothing to comfort me, and the pride of the MacDermotts

gives me little consolation for the things I've missed. I'd give the

two eyes out of my head to have a wife like your wife, and a wee child

for my own, but I've had to do without the both of them. You see, John,

I had to keep the family going when the others failed to support it,

I'd be a glad and happy man if I had my wife and my child in the

shop!..."

"Do you want me to come home too, then?"

"Every man must do the best for himself, I'm only telling you not to

eat up other people's lives when you're holding on to your own opinion.

I daresay you know what's best for yourself, but I wonder whether

you'll think that in ten years' time. Or twenty years' time. If you can

comfort your mind with the thought that this world is a romance, the

way your Uncle Matthew did, then you'll mebbe be content, but I never

saw any romance in it, and the only comfort I get from it is the

thought that I'm keeping up a good name. The MacDermotts always gave

good value for the money. I wouldn't mind if they put that on my

gravestone!" He changed his tone abruptly. "Do you think you're a good

writer, John?" he asked.

"I don't know, Uncle William. I try hard to believe I am, but I'm not

sure. Do you think I am?"

"How can I tell? I've no knowledge of these things, and I can't

distinguish between my pride in you and my judgment. I liked your book

well enough, but I'm doubtful would I have bothered my head about it if

someone else had written it. Is your next book a good one?"

"_I_ think so, but Eleanor doesn't!"

"The position isn't very satisfactory, is it? You're going to leave

that young girl for the sake of something that you're uncertain of?"

"I want to prove my worth to her!"

"You mean you want to content yourself. You want to make her think you

were right and she was wrong!"

"I have my pride!..."

"Aye, you have your pride, but I'm wondering would you rather have that

than Eleanor?"

They sat down on the edge of the Lough and did not speak for a long

time. John picked up pebbles and threw them into the water, while his

Uncle gazed at the opposite shore. They sat there until it was time to

go home to tea.

"We'd better be moving," said Uncle William. "Are you settled in your

mind that you're going back to London?"

"Yes," said John.