“You’re the lad that’s at Aldershot, aren’t you? How long are you there?”

“About two years.” A shrug. “Long enough.”

“Your service must be nearly up, so?”

Ian looked blank.

“Your national service, isn’t that what you call it?”

The young man appealed mutely to his stepfather, as if to say, you explain it, for God’s sake!

Bill hastened to oblige. “I don’t think I told you, Father. Ian’s a regular. Very young, too, but he was in the first six out of the Staff College. I have the photograph here. Where is it, Ian?”

And grudgingly, Ian handed over the photograph from the side table.

The British Army! Father Conroy looked at the rows of young faces that looked sternly back at him from under the lines of horizontally peaked caps. Name of God, what chance was there? What kind of a cracked old fool was he? He put down the photograph gently and began to rise to his feet. Get yourself out of here, he told himself, while you still seem halfway sane.

But lunch was ready, and Bill had him by the arm. “Of course, Father, there’s no national service now. We haven’t had it for, oh, how many years, Ian?” He was touched, amused, bubbling over with solicitude as they took their places around the table in the dining room. Poor Father, he was obviously thinking, buried so long in Ireland. No telly, no papers, no post even. Just a great, shabby, green shrubbery with the mist hanging over it! You stupid oul’ bollox, thought Father Conroy, and glowered down at his plate.

“Paul must be delayed,” said Marie, bustling in. “Let’s start without him.”

“National service,” chuckled Bill. “Fancy that!”

“Ian’s been through the Staff College,” she said sharply. “Fifth, wasn’t it, Ian?”

Yes, she was vulnerable, all right. But how was that going to help? There was no future in Ian. That was plain to see.

“He’s always been keen,” Bill bumbled happily on, “as long as... as we’ve been together. You know, the Scouts, the O.T.C., that sort of thing. The Army seemed the natural thing, and luckily I managed to get him into Wellington.”

Father Conroy looked at the young man opposite, already starting on his steady, purposeful way through the largest helping of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. How much Conroy was in him to be reached?

“Nearly time for him to settle down,” Bill went on. “Right, Father?”

“Nonsense,” Marie said.

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t...” Bill began, but when she glanced at him, he ended with a murmured, “...think about it.”

“He’s time enough,” she said, and made it quite definitely the last word.

Father Conroy let the silence lie for a moment. The young man ate stolidly, as if the conversation had nothing whatsoever to do with him. Oh, a cool card, right enough! But Father Conroy knew that there was an opening somewhere near, if he could only find it.