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Then she withdrew her arms, and this time he did not try to detain her. He missed the last train to Ballyards, but he did not mind that. He set out bravely to walk from Belfast. The silence of the streets, the deeper silence of the country roads, accorded with the pleasure in his heart. He sang to himself, and sometimes he sang aloud.
She's not sick or anything, is she?" he replied anxiously. "Oh, dear bless you, no! She's not sick," Mrs. Bothwell said. "Do you mean to say you don't know where she is?" "No, I ... I don't, Mrs. Bothwell!" There was a note of apprehension in his voice. "I thought, she'd be here!" "But haven't you been to the house?" "No," he answered. "I've just arrived from Ballyards this minute.
"You see I live in Ballyards and I only come up to town on Saturdays." "By your lone?" she asked. He nodded his head. He poured out his tea, and then began to spread butter on a piece of soda-farl. "I'd be awful dull walking the streets by myself," she said, watching him as he did so. "I'm a terrible one for company. I can't bear being by myself!" "Company's good," he said.
His Uncle Matthew's imaginings had filled his mind with romantic desires, and he longed to leave Ballyards and go somewhere ... anywhere, so long as it was a difficult and distant place ... where he would have to contend with dangers.
In Ballyards, a man always pretended not to see a woman about to have a child ... unless, of course, he was with other men and the woman could not see him, when he would crack jokes about her condition!... Here, however, people actually exhibited pictures of pregnant women in a public place where all sorts, old and young, male and female, could look at them ... and no one appeared to mind.
She was very interested to hear about Ballyards and the shop. Very interested!" She turned to him at the top of the stairs. "Good-night, son," she said. "I'm away to my bed. I'm tired!" She put her arms round him. "You're a queer headstrong wee fellow," she said. "Queer and headstrong! Good-night, son!" "Good-night, ma!" he replied as he kissed her. He held her for a moment.
"A trunk and a bag," John answered. "They have my name on them. John MacDermott!" "Mac what, sir?" the porter asked. "MacDermott. John MacDermott. Passenger from Ballyards to London, via Belfast and Liverpool!" "It's no good telling him about Ballyards," Hinde interrupted. "The people of this place are ignorant: they've never heard of Ballyards.
Eleanor hesitated. "I don't know," she said. "I don't feel very well yet. Can't you stay on a while longer, John? You know you're tired and need a rest, and it'll do you a lot of good to stay on for a week or two!" "I must get back. I've a living to earn for three of us now!" "I shall be sorry to leave Ballyards," Eleanor replied. "There's no need for either of you to leave it," Mrs.
His visions of this girl, constantly recurring, prevented him from falling in love with any girl in Ballyards. When he contrasted the girl of his dream with the girls he saw about him, he could not understand how anyone could possibly love a Ballyards girl. Aggie Logan!... He would come away from the fields, pleased with his dreams, but still as far from a solution of his problem as ever.
"Well, how can you blame me then if you won't listen to me when I offer to tell you about myself. You know my name. John MacDermott. And I'm Irish!..." "Yes," she interrupted, "I'm making big allowances for that!" "My family's the most respected family in Ballyards!..." "Where's that?" she asked. "Do you not know either? You're the second person I've met in London didn't know that.
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