John Muldoon.
PS — I hope Jerry hasn’t taken to drinking yet.
This letter made poor Katey very unhappy. There was in it a tone of selfish heartlessness which would have made its contents a matter of indifference only for two or three of the remarks it contained.
“What right have they,” Katey thought indignantly, “to think that Jerry would take to drinking? “Has he taken to it yet,” indeed, as if Jerry would be a drunkard? My Jerry, that never was drunk but once, and that never goes near a public-house now. And why did they think we lived in a garret, or a cellar either. I’ll be bound there isn’t as clean or as comfortable a room in John Muldoon’s house as this very room. It’s like their impudence.” And so ran on the little woman’s thoughts till something within her whispered, “Pride, Katey, pride. Take care of pride. Keep your room clean and nice, and it won’t matter whether they think you live in a garret or anywhere else.”
In time Mr. and Mrs. Muldoon came over to London, and, after sending a message to Katey that she might be prepared, they paid her a visit. Mrs. Muldoon was radiant with every colour in the rainbow, and from the number of garments floating and flying about her looked of such portentous dimensions that her little stout husband seemed like a dwarf.
John Muldoon, however, did not consider himself a dwarf by any means, and was as proud of his wife “as a dog with a tin tail.” Mrs. Muldoon was most patronisingly affectionate as became her exalted rank and her blushing condition. She kissed Katey several times, and disported herself with the children, whom she took turn about on her knees until she got tired of them
Her conduct towards the baby was worthy of note. Towards it she displayed an amount of affectionate curiosity worthy of all praise. She dandled it in her hands, she kissed it, she cuddled it, she almost strangled it, and by her unskilful nursing managed to inflict on it much pain in the way of pins.
Katey stood by, now smiling, now anxious, as the child seemed pleased or unhappy.
Suddenly, without any apparent cause, Mrs. Muldoon stood up and said —
“John, dear, I think we have stayed a long time. Mrs. Katey will want to get back to her work.” And so, taking her husband’s arm, went away, after a hurried farewell.
Katey was distressed, for she feared there was some offence, and the tone adopted by her new relative was gall and wormwood to her womanly feelings. For they had not wished to see Jerry, but merely asked for him. It was only, however, that the bride was tired of the visit, and wished to see some more of the sights of London.
A letter came from Parnell one day which gave Katey great pleasure. One sentence in it ran as follows:
Never forget that you must be your husband’s Guardian Angel in case he falls into any temptation. Above all things remember that your hold on him is stronger while there is perfect confidence. When there is between man and wife a shadow of suspicion or doubt — when either hesitates to tell a secret or confess a fault, not knowing how it may be received — then there is over their lives the shadow of a dark future. Never keep a secret, then, except when it is not your own, from your husband, and strive so to act that he conceal nothing from you.
As she read this the little woman said to herself with a mixture of pride and thoughtfulness:
“There are no secrets between Jerry and me, thank God. Sure there isn’t a thought of my heart I wouldn’t tell him, and I know that he tells me everything.”
This thought tended to perfect the happiness which, now that Jerry was going along so steadily and prosperously, was her natural condition.
A few evenings after, whilst Jerry was at the theatre, Sebright came in. In the course of conversation he happened to mention Grinnell’s name.
“Who is Grinnell?” asked Katey.
“Don’t you know Grinnell? Why he is a friend of Jerry’s.”
“A friend of Jerry’s! how odd that he never mentioned him to me. What is he?”
“He keeps the public-house opposite the stage door of the Stanley.”
Katey’s heart seemed to turn to stone, but she did not choose to let Sebright see her feeling lest it should do harm, and so, for the present, let the matter drop.
When her visitor had gone she was in a dreadful state of mind. She longed to cry with a bitter longing, but feared to, lest Jerry should find her eyes red on his return from work, and so she bravely bore her sorrow — the sorrow that followed the thought of her husband’s concealment.
When Jerry returned he found her bright and cheerful as usual, and in a talking humour. He had had a hard and long day’s work, and was now quite in a humour for a quiet chat. Katey had been thinking over Sebright’s remark, and had come to the conclusion that as Jerry had not told her about Grinnell he had some object in his concealment, and that to force a confession would be to put him in the wrong at the very outset. Accordingly she began her conversation, with the object of trying to invite his confidence.
After talking over the state of things at the theatre, to which she had been several times, Jerry’s companions, and daily life, she asked him —
“What do you do all the evening, Jerry? It must be very slow work for you.”
“Well, it’s slow at times; but, as a rule, there’s plenty to do. So that with looking after the cellars, and the flies, and the wings, and trying to keep the men square and sober, my time isn’t idle I can tell you.”
“Is it hard to keep the men sober?”
“Isn’t it. They’d be always over in Grinnell’s if I let them”
“What is Grinnell’s?”
“A public-house over the way.”
“And is Grinnell the proprietor?”
“He is, and a good fellow too — very pleasant and sociable.”
Jerry was thinking that the present was a good time to tell his wife that he sometimes went in, but did not drink anything; but such a look of fear came over her face, despite all her efforts, that he did not care to go on, and hastily turned aside the current of conversation.
Katey felt that the shadow was growing, but yet feared to say anything more at present lest Jerry should be hurt.
Poor little woman; she was in great doubt, pitiable doubt, and as she had no one near to advise her, was driven almost into despair. In her perplexity she wrote to Parnell a tender little letter, full of love for her husband, and asking earnestly for advice. The answer came in a way that she did not expect, for one day, shortly after, whilst she was busily engaged over her washing-tub a tall man, none other than Parnell himself, walked in.
Katey looked at him in amazement, and gave a low, glad cry, and, as she was, without even thinking of her wet hands and arms, ran over and put her arms round his neck and kissed him.
Whilst she was in this attitude Jerry came in, and, seeing his wife with her arms round a man’s neck, for he did not at first recognise Parnell — not expecting to see him — gave vent to an indignant “Hullo!” Parnell turned his head round, and Katey peeped over his shoulder at her husband. When Jerry saw who it was he nearly shook his hand off and pressed him into a chair, asking him all sorts of questions, without giving him time to reply.
Parnell told him all the Dublin news; amongst other things giving him a