They shook hands as they parted. Ted had only a few steps more and he took them slowly. Very warm and dry, he thought. The garden will need watering. Now he was at his gate. There was no one in sight. He stood for a moment looking about him. It was as if he saw the house he had lived in for ten years, for the first time. He saw that it had a mean, narrow-chested appearance. The roof tiles were discoloured, the woodwork needed painting, the crazy pavement that he had laid with such zeal had an unpleasant flirtatious looks. The revolutionary thought moved in his mind, “We might leave here.” Measured against the possibilities that lay before him, it looked small and mean. Even the name, “Emoh Ruo” seemed wrong, pokey.
Ted was reluctant to go in. It was so long since anything of the least importance had happened between him and Grace, that it made him shy. He did not know how she would take it. Would she be all in a dither and no dinner ready? He hoped so but feared not.
He went into the hall, hung up his hat and shouted in a big bluff voice, “Well, well, well, and where’s my rich wife?”
Grace was in the kitchen dishing up dinner.
“You’re late,” she said. “The dinner’s spoiling.”
The children were quiet but restless, anxious to leave the table and go out to play. “I got rid of the reporters,” Grace said in a flat voice. Grace had character, trust her to handle a couple of cub reporters. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it to her husband either. He felt himself, his voice, his stature dwindling. He looked at her with hard eyes. “Where did she get the money,” he wondered again, but more sharply.
Presently they were alone. There was a pause. Grace began to clear the table. Ted felt that he must do something. He took her awkwardly into his arms. “Gracie, aren’t you pleased?”
She stared at him a second then her face seemed to fall together, a sort of spasm, something worse than tears. But she twitched away from him. “Yes,” she said, picking up a pile of crockery and making for the kitchen. He followed her.
“You’re a dark horse, never telling me a word about it.”
“She’s like ice,” he thought.
She moved about the kitchen with quick nervous movements. After a moment, she answered what was in his mind:
“I sold mother’s ring and chain. A man came to the door buying old gold. I bought a ticket every week till the money was gone.”
“Oh,” he said. Grace had sold her mother’s wedding ring to buy a lottery ticket.
“It was my money.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“No, you didn’t.”
The plates chattered in her hands. She was evidently feeling something, and feeling it strongly. But Ted didn’t know what. He couldn’t make her out.
She came and stood in front of him, her back to the littered table, her whole body taut.
”I suppose you’re wondering what I’m going to do? I’ll tell you. I’m going away. By myself. Before it is too late. I’m going tomorrow.”
He didn’t seem to be taking it in.
“Beattie will come and look after you and the children. She’ll be glad to. It won’t cost you a penny more than it does now,” she added.
He stood staring at her, his flaccid hands hanging down, his face sagging.
“Then you meant what it said in the paper, ‘Last Hope’?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered.