Lizzie was in the hall when John let himself into the house that night.
"Hilloa," he said, "not gone to bed yet?"
"I never 'ave time to go to bed," she said. "'Ow can I get any sleep when I 'ave to look after men! You an' Mr. 'Inde!" She came nearer to him. "You'll get a bit of a surprise when you go upstairs," she said very knowingly.
"You'll see when you get upstairs. It's been, waitin' for you 'ere since seven o'clock!..."
Lizzie could not control her laughter when he said "parcel." "Ow!" she giggled. "Ow, dear, ow, dear! A parcel! Ow, yes, it's a parcel all right! You'll see when you get up!..."
He began to mount the stairs. "You're an awful fool, Lizzie," he said crossly, leaning over the banisters.
"Losin' your temper, eih?" she replied, bolting the street door.
He hurried up to the sitting-room and as he climbed the flight of stairs that led directly to it, Hinde called out to him, "Is that you, Mac?"
Hinde came to the door and opened it fully. "There's someone here to see you," he said.
He entered the room as he spoke. His mother was sitting in front of the fire.
"Mother!" he exclaimed, remembering just in time not to say "Ma!" which would have sounded very childish in front of Hinde.
"This is a nice hour of the night to be coming home," she said, trying to speak severely, but she could not maintain the severity in her voice, for his arms were about her and she was hugging him.
"You never told me you were coming," he said. "What brought you over?"
"I've come to see this girl you've got hold of," she answered.
"But why didn't you tell me you were coming?" he asked. "I'd have met you at the station!"
She ignored his question. "This is a terrible town," she said. "Mr. Hinde says there's near twice as many people in this place as there is in the whole of Ireland. How in the earthly world do they manage to get about their business?"
"Oh, quite easily," he said nonchalantly, and as he spoke he realised that he had come to be a Londoner.
"When I got out at the station," Mrs. MacDermott continued, "I called a porter and said to him, 'Just put that bag on your shoulder and carry it for me!' 'Where to, ma'am?' says he, and then I gave him your address. I thought the man 'ud drop down dead. 'Is it far?' says I. 'Far!' says he. 'It's miles!' By all I can make out, John, you live as far from the station as Millreagh is from Ballyards. I had to come here in one of them things that runs without horses ... what do you call them?"