"You and an old woman like me." "Won't it be lovely when we live in the country, mother?" "Oh, but there won't be any music-halls." "We won't need them in the country with the nights. You should have seen them in Scotland. I used to go into the woods, and sometimes up the hills." "But with an old, old woman----" "I won't let you be really old, mother. And up there I used to feel that I didn't really want anybody. That's queer, because I was in love--really, I was." He began to tingle and burn at the thought of Cathleen and the absurd end of his hopes, and almost tearfully to realize that he was not yet out of love. That discomfort gave him a sense of gladness in his mother's company. It was wonderful the sweetness that had come into their life together, the peace of it and the hope. He said: "It won't be long before I can begin to make some money. I'm only waiting for Professor Smallman to come back. His letter was awfully kind. He says there will be no difficulty. I can get first-year pupils, and he can help me to find some journalistic work. Then when I've got my degree I'll get a post, and you won't have to take any more money from the rich Fourmys." "It's only what helps you now. You don't seem to be a bit ambitious, René." "Would you like me to be?" "But you're so clever and everybody else is so stupid. It seems so funny of you to be so pleased with anything you can get." "Funny?" He could hardly grasp what she meant. She went on: "You're so good-looking, too. I shouldn't be surprised if you got on and married somebody who was--well, you know." There was a strain of bitterness in his mother which could infuriate him. To-night he was so happy with her that it made him only sad, and he said gently: "I don't think I'm the sort that gets on. I say things--in letters, you know." "But I'd like to see you well off and married to some really nice girl." "And I'd like to see the girl who could make me give up the idea of living in the country with you." "I'll come and stay with you." So they went on gently sparring, both clinging to their separate idylls of the future. They came out of the park into the streets of little shops and small houses like their own, and stopped presently at the German delicatessen store, where they argued as to what they should have for supper, ham or liver sausage. They compromised, and decided on both, with little Swiss cheeses and honey-cakes. As they came out into Hog Lane West they were accosted by a man who asked René if he could tell him where Hog Lane West was, and which way he should turn to find 166. "That's my house," said René. The stranger moved closer to him and had a long look at him. René felt a tug at his arm, and turned to find his mother trembling against him. "René! René! it's your father!" "Is it you, Essie?" said the stranger, and he removed his hat.