"Your mother is angry with us, Mary," said he, "and I suppose she has good right to be angry; but the reason I did not speak to her before, as I admit I should have if I'd done the right thing, was that I had very few chances of meeting her, and never did meet her without some other person being there at the same time. I suppose the reason you did not say anything was that you wanted to be quite sure of yourself and of me too before you mentioned it. We have both done the wrong thing in not being open, but maybe your mother will forgive us when she knows we had no intention of hurting her, or of doing anything behind her back. Your mother seems to hate me: I don't know why, because she hardly knows me at all, and I've never done her any harm or said a word against her. Perhaps when she knows me as well as you do she'll change her mind: but you know I love you better than any one else, and that I'd do anything I could to please you and be a good husband to you. What I want to ask you before your mother is--will you marry me?"
Mary made no reply. She did not look or give the slightest sign that she had heard. But now it was that she did not dare to look at him. The spectacle of this big man badgered by her and by her mother, pleading to her, and pleading, as he and she well knew, hopelessly, would have broken her heart if she looked at him. She had to admire the good masculine fight he made of it. Even his tricks of word and tactic, which she instantly divined, moved her almost to tears; but she feared terribly that if she met his gaze she might not be able to resist his huge helplessness, and that she might be compelled to do whatever he begged of her even in despite of her own wishes.
The interval which followed his question weighed heavily upon them all. It was only broken by Mrs. Makebelieve, who began to hum a song as she polished the fire-grate. She meant to show her careless detachment from the whole matter, but in the face of Mary's silence she could not keep it up. After a few moments she moved around and said:
"Why don't you answer the gentleman, Mary?"
Mary turned and looked at her, and the tears which she had resisted so long swam in her eyes: although she could keep her features composed she had no further command over her tears.
"I'll answer whatever you ask me, mother," she whispered.
"Then, tell the gentleman whether you will marry him or not."
"I don't want to marry any one at all," said Mary.
"You are not asked to marry any one, darling," said Mrs. Makebelieve, "but some one--this gentleman here whose name I don't happen to know. Do you know his name?"
"No," said Mary.
"My name..." began the policeman.
"It doesn't matter, sir," said Mrs. Make-believe. "Do you want to marry this gentleman, Mary?"
"No," whispered Mary.
"Are you in love with him?"
Mary turned completely away from him. "No," she whispered again.
"Do you think you ever will be in love with him?"
She felt as a rat might when hunted to a corner. But the end must be very near; this could not last for ever, because nothing can. Her lips were parched, her eyes were burning. She wanted to lie down and go asleep, and waken again laughing to say, "It was a dream."
Her reply was almost inaudible. "No," she said.
"You are quite sure? It is always better to be quite sure."
She did not answer any more, but the faint droop of her head gave the reply her mother needed.
"You see, sir," said Mrs. Makebelieve, "that you were mistaken in your opinion. My daughter is not old enough yet to be thinking of marriage and such-like. Children do be thoughtless. I am sorry for all the trouble she has given you, and "--a sudden compunction stirred her, for the man was standing up now, and there was no trace of Mrs. O'Connor visible in him; his face was as massive and harsh as a piece of wall. "Don't you be thinking too badly of us now," said Mrs. Makebelieve, with some agitation; "the child is too young altogether to be asking her to marry. Maybe in a year or two--I said things, I know, but I was vexed, and..."
The big man nodded his head and marched out.
Mary ran to her mother, moaning like a sick person, but Mrs. Makebelieve did not look at her. She lay down on the bed and turned her face to the wall, and she did not speak to Mary for a long time.
XXXI
When the young man who lodged with Mrs. Cafferty came in on the following day he presented a deplorable appearance. His clothes were torn and his face had several large strips of sticking-plaster on it, but he seemed to be in a mood of extraordinary happiness notwithstanding, and proclaimed that he had participated in the one really great fight of his lifetime, that he wasn't injured at all, and
