“We ought all to go away for a time. The country is poisoning us, June. Under all the smiles that one hears and the soft kindness that one sees at first, there is so much cruelty. We will go.” “They brought him to it.” “It’s all so different in the towns, there is so much more going on.” “But I don’t want any more to go on. I’ve got enough as it is.” “I’m so sorry.” “Oh, it’s all right. If it wasn’t for Father’s being as he is, it wouldn’t be bad. He’s worse than usual just now, and he won’t have you do anything for him.” “We shall never do any good in the country. What is the use of staying down here? I ought to go away.” “But how can we?” We? How awkward! “I shall never do any writing down here. It’s no good, one can’t.” “No, I don’t suppose so.” “Does nothing ever happen in the country?” “Well, I don’t know that you have much to complain of, poor darling.” “What, you mean going blind like that? Yes, I had forgotten. Except for that, then, nothing has happened. Sometimes I see a pool shut in by trees with their branches reflected in the stagnant water. Nothing ever moves, the pool just lies there, day and night, and the trees look in. At long intervals there is a ripple; the pool lets it die. And then the trees look in the same as before.” “Funny John.” “I may be, but that is the country.” “D’you know how I live in that house where there’s everything to clean, and with not a soul to help me, mind you, with a man that throws anything away, anywhere, an’ the chickens to feed and the meals to cook?” “There would be food to prepare and boards to scrub in towns.” “Oh, I know there would, but we could have a gay time there, what with dancing an’ nice dresses an’ everything.” “Oh yes, we could have a gay time there.” How different this was to the first time he had sat at the top with her a fortnight ago. Only two weeks and so many things had happened. “You will take me, won’t you, John darling?” “Yes.” Let in for it this time. “But I can’t leave Father.” “But I thought you said you wanted to go.” “I wanted to make sure of you. Besides, why can’t I make believe?” “Don’t you want to go with me, then?” “Yes. But I can’t leave Father, he wouldn’t be able to do anything without me. Poor Father, he’s helpless, you know. He must have someone to look after him. And anyway you’ld have gone off.” “June, why do you say that?” “They always do. There was a story I read called _The Love of White Hope._ The young man in that left his girl whom he had promised to marry, and she committed suicide, which was stupid, and he was so sorry that he drank water for the rest of his life, or something, I forget, which was stupider still. Yes, that was it, he used to drink in his young days, and then after that he gave it up. He was lovely when he was young. You would never take me with you.” “But I asked you to come.” “Did you?” “I said you could.” “But you never meant me to.” “Yes, I did.” “I know you didn’t.”