"Father," he said when he got home, "I'd like to go to London at once!"

"You can't go this minute, my son. There's no train the night!"

"I mean, I want to go as soon as possible!"

Mr. Quinn glanced sharply at him. "You're in a desperate hurry all of a sudden," he said. "What's up?"

"Nothing, father, only I want to get to work, and I can't work here!..."

"Restless, are you? I was hopin' you'd give me a bit of your company a while longer!..."

"I'm sorry, father!..."

"That's all right, my boy, that's all right. When do you want to go?"

"To-morrow!"

"You've only been home a short time.... Never mind! I'll come up to Belfast an' see you off. There's a Co-operative Conference there the day after the morra, an' I may as well go up with you as go up alone!"

Henry knew that his father was hurt by his sudden decision to leave Ballymartin, and he felt sorry for the old man's disappointment, but he felt, too, that he could not bear to stay near Hamilton's farm at present, knowing that Sheila, whom he had loved and idealised, was likely to meet him in the roads at any moment, a baby in her arms, perhaps at her breast, and a husband somewhere near at hand.

"I must go," he told himself. "I must get over this...."