It was the Rollestons who paid for Tom to attend the convent: his mother had told him that. Father Pierce had come over to the island specially. He had made the suggestion that in the circumstances it would be a good idea for Tom to go to the nuns until he was ready for the Christian Brothers. He had spoken to old Mrs Rolleston and apparently she had understood and had agreed. ‘They’re good to us, Tom,’ his mother had said, and then had explained how she had been permitted to remain at Carriglas after his father’s death, how Mrs Rolleston had insisted that she should move into the gate-lodge, abiding by the intention there had been. Everyone knew that his father’s death had been an error. The Rollestons had endeavoured to make up for it.

‘I’ll be back maybe on Thursday,’ he said to Sister Conheady. ‘Or Wednesday if she’ll have finished it.’

‘I’m never far away, Tom.’

He always wished he could stay longer. A pleasant, shivery feeling sometimes ran through him when he was with Sister Conheady. It wasn’t that he wanted to say anything in particular to her, or to listen to her saying something to him. It was just that being in her presence was nice.

John James made much the same journey as Tom had made in the early morning. When he stepped off the ferry barefoot children begged from him. Spring cabbages wilted beside turnips and carrots outside the small, poor shops of Narrow Lane. A smell of meal and porter wafted out of open doors. In the gutters there was a sludge of manure from last week’s cattle and sheep fair.

He cashed a cheque in the Bank of Ireland, then strode the length of the town, out past the convent and the green railings of the Christian Brothers’ school, on to the promenade. He wore a double-breasted flannel suit, his brown shoes shone, his tie and moustache shared a sprightliness. A yellow walking-stick almost disguised the hint of lameness in his gait that was a legacy of the war that had claimed his father.

Before turning into the Rose of Tralee boarding-house he paused and looked about him, his cigarette-case in one hand so that if necessary he might delay his progress beneath the pretext of selecting and nonchalantly lighting a cigarette. But since there was no one to be seen on the promenade he entered the boarding-house and made his way upstairs.