from the beginning, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ellie, ‘and you knew, too, didn’t you, about me?’
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘what are we going to do about it? It’s not going to be easy, Ellie. You know pretty well what I am, what I’ve done, the sort of life I’ve led. I went back to see my mother and the grim, respectable little street she lives in. It’s not the same world as yours, Ellie. I don’t know that we can ever make them meet.’
‘You could take me to see your mother.’
‘Yes, I could,’ I said, ‘but I’d rather not. I expect that sounds very harsh to you, perhaps cruel, but you see we’ve got to lead a queer life together, you and I. It’s not going to be the life that you’ve led and it’s not going to be the life that I’ve led either. It’s got to be a new life where we have a sort of meeting ground between my poverty and ignorance and your money and culture and social knowledge. My friends will think you’re stuck up and your friends will think I’m socially unpresentable. So what are we going to do?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ said Ellie, ‘exactly what we’re going to do. We’re going to live on Gipsy’s Acre in a house—a dream house—that your friend Santonix will build for us. That’s what we’re going to do.’ She added, ‘We’ll get married first. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s what I mean. If you’re sure it’s all right with you.’
‘It’s quite easy,’ said Ellie, ‘we can get married next week. I’m of age, you see. I can do what I like now. That makes all the difference. I think perhaps you’re right about relations. I shan’t tell my people and you won’t tell your mother, not until it’s all over and then they can throw fits and it won’t matter.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, ‘wonderful, Ellie. But there’s one thing. I hate telling you about it. We can’t live at Gipsy’s Acre, Ellie. Wherever we build our house it can’t be there because it’s sold.’
‘I know it’s sold,’ said Ellie. She was laughing. ‘You don’t understand, Mike. I’m the person who’s bought it.’
I sat there, on the grass by the stream among the water flowers with the little paths and the stepping stones all round us. A good many other people were sitting round about us, but we didn’t notice them or even see they were there, because we were like all the others. Young couples, talking about their future. I stared at her and stared at her. I just couldn’t speak.
‘Mike,’ she said. ‘There’s something, something I’ve got to tell you. Something about me, I mean.’
‘You don’t need to,’ I said, ‘no need to tell me anything.’
‘Yes, but I must. I ought to have told you long ago but I didn’t want to because—because I thought it might drive you away. But it explains in a way, about Gipsy’s Acre.’
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