suddenly angry at the difficulties that life was making for him without
his own wish. "Oh, I'll be here some time yet, mother," he said. "Well, I
must get along now. I've got an appointment with a fellow."

She smiled and disappeared into her room.

All the way into Seatown he was baffled and irritated by this little
conversation. It seemed that you could not disregard people by simply
determining to disregard them. All the time behind you and them some force
was insisting on places being taken, connections being formed. One was
simply a bally pawn...a bally pawn....

But what was his mother thinking? Had some one been talking to her?
Perhaps already she knew about Annie. But what could she know? Girls like
Annie were outside her ken. What could his mother know about life? The day
did not help his dissatisfaction. The fog had not descended upon the town,
but it had sent as its forerunner a wet sea mist, dim and intangible,
depressing because it removed all beauty and did not leave even
challenging ugliness in its place.

On the best of days Seatown was not beautiful. I have read in books
romantic descriptions of Glebeshire coves, Glebeshire towns with the
romantic Inn, the sanded floor, fishermen with gold rings in their ears
and strange oaths upon their lips. In one book I remember there was a fine
picture of such a place, with beautiful girls dancing and mysterious old
men telling mysterious tales about ghosts and goblins, and, of course,
somewhere in the distance some one was singing a chanty, and the moon was
rising, and there was a nice little piece of Glebeshire dialect thrown in.
All very pretty.... Seatown cannot claim such prettiness. Perhaps once
long ago, when there were only the Cathedral, the Castle, the Rock, and a