A friend of his, a man who had been a great friend of his at that time, had helped him to find the rooms. Frank Guiney, a very good-hearted fellow. He and Frank had been great chums, but Frank had gone to try his luck in England. Hubert wondered if Frank had ever come home again. There had never been any word from him after a couple of postcards in the weeks that followed his departure. Frank had been a great friend. The night Hubert and Rose arrived at Westland Row Station, Frank met them at the station and they all walked back to Somerville Street together, Hubert and Frank carrying the luggage and Rose carrying only a basket filled with bits of food — tea, sugar, things like that — that her mother had gone and got from the shop at the last minute before they left. There was even a bottle of milk, because the mother had said there would be no milk to compare with in Dublin. Rose hadn’t wanted to take the basket of food. She had been embarrassed about carrying it, and in the train she had put her coat over it, covering the little bags and parcels it was filled with, but when they had left Westland Row and were walking along the street she carried it easily, smiling as she went along between himself and Frank. Frank complained that Hubert must have married an heiress, he had so much to carry. Frank was very funny that evening. He said the case he was carrying must be full of ornaments, it was so heavy.

“China ornaments,” Frank cried. “China cats and china dogs and great big china horses. What do you want with so many ornaments, Rose? Eh?? Isn’t Hubert ornament enough for you? Mind you don’t put him on the mantelpiece by mistake, now.”

Rose had been all doubled up with giggling. Then when they were along Somerville Street Rose said, “Which of the houses are we going to live in?” And Frank gave a flourish of one of the parcels he was carrying and nearly dropped everything with his nonsense, and he said, “The best house.” When they came to the house, stone steps in front and a dark green door, scratched and dented and with a crack in the fanlight, Frank put everything he was carrying on the ground and stretched to rest himself before starting the long climb to the top of the stairs.

Frank looked at Rose and he said, “She smiles and smiles and smiles.” Rose was obviously longing to go into the house and straight up to see the rooms, but she stood obedient and pleased while they both looked at her.

“She smiles and smiles and smiles,” Frank shouted, and then he said to Hubert, “Does she never stop smiling?” And Hubert said, “Never.”