“But June ...” “Oh, I’m not blaming you, don’t be frightened. But it was your lot that brought him to it, it ...” These scenes. And after all, flirting with the postman, it was unfortunate, and a squalid story. Now the man was so soaked in the whisky, or whatever it was he drank, that he was a topic of conversation. For that alone one ought to be grateful to him. But Mamma was right for once, it was disgraceful. But it was sad too. “... poor, poor Father.” “Yes, June, I am so sorry.” “You aren’t really.” There was a pause, and then he said: “I think perhaps suffering is rather fine, don’t you?” Was it? He did not know. At any rate, it was a way out of blindness. She began again: “But why wasn’t I allowed to wear nice dresses and stay in the Vicarage and go to dances an’ have some fun? Why have I got to scrub floors all day and cook meals and look after the house with never a word of thanks? It isn’t fair.” “But you and I are really rather lucky ...” “Lucky! You ...?” His face, that awful face. He didn’t know what scars he had, poor boy. You couldn’t say anything to him, with his blindness an’ all. “... but not _lucky_, John.” “I can’t express myself. And I cannot understand how you endure your life if you don’t see the fineness in its being as it is.” “Endure it? Why, it just goes on. Oh, John, you will take me with you, won’t you?” “What is going to happen to Mr. Entwhistle, then?” “I can’t leave Father.” “Does he want to go to the towns?” “No, he says that would be running away, I don’t know what from, though.” “You couldn’t leave him, June.” “No.” “But you will one day.” “How do you mean? When he dies? Oh no, he mustn’t die.” “I wish you saw that about suffering.” What could one say to her? If one was in her position and did not make it into something, it was not worth its own unpleasantness, that must be so. So that if she was too small to understand, she had much better go on the streets and have a good time on and off, if she could get it in no other way. She could not come to London with him, even if they went there, for she would only be unhappy. He could never introduce her to his friends, if he educated her she would only be genteel. Her value was her brutality, and she would lose that. Besides, there was the Shame, who was a fool from all accounts, almost an idiot. But you couldn’t let her go back to him in this frame of mind, it was waste. And what would she do when the old man died?--not that he was old, either, but quite young. Probably marry a commercial traveller. He would talk to Mamma. Oh, he was tired, tired. There was a roar in the distance. “June, what was that?” “It’s a football match on the Town ground. Norbury are playing Daunton to-day, so Mrs. Donner told me. She has a son that plays, wonderful they say he is.” “That must have been a goal, then. Or a foul.” “Oh, John, you mustn’t go.” “Where?” “Why, to London, of course. What shall I do?”