"Study for his grave, the fool! So that's it, is it? Well, well! it saves trouble in the end. I don't need to bother my head now over what's to become of him ... him or anyone else. My chief desire is to say good-bye to this hole for ever. There's no sense, Polly, in my dawdling on. Indeed, I haven't the money to do it. So I've arranged, my dear, with our friend Ocock to come in and sell us off, as soon as you can get our personal belongings put together."
Here Polly raised her head as if to interrupt; but Mahony, full of what he had to say, ignored the movement, and went on speaking. He did not wish to cause his wife uneasiness, by dwelling on his difficulties; but some explanation was necessary to pave the way for his proposal that she should remain behind, when he left the colony. He spent all his eloquence in making this sound natural and attractive. But it was hard, when Polly's big, astonished eyes hung on his face. "Do you think, for my sake, you could be brave enough?" he wound up, rather unsurely. "It wouldn't be for long, love, I'm certain of that. Just let me set foot in England once more!"
"Why ... why, yes, dear Richard, I ... I think I could, if you really wished it," said Polly in a small voice. She tried to seem reasonable; though black night descended on her at the thought of parting, and though her woman's eyes saw a hundred objections to the plan, which his had overlooked. (For one thing, John had just installed Sara as housekeeper, and Sara would take it very unkindly to be shown the door.) "I THINK I could," she repeated. "But before you go on, dear, I should like to ask YOU something."
She laid down her needlework; her heart was going pit-a-pat. "Richard, did you ever... I mean have you never thought of ... of taking up your profession again—I mean here—starting practice here?—No, wait a minute! Let me finish. I ... I ... oh, Richard!" Unable to find words, Polly locked her fingers under the tablecloth and hoped she was not going to be so silly as to cry. Getting up, she knelt down before her husband, laying her hands on his knees. "Oh, Richard, I wish you would—HOW I wish you would!"
"Why, Polly!" said Mahony, surprised at her agitation. "Why, my dear, what's all this?—You want to know if I never thought of setting up in practice out here? Of course I did ... in the beginning. You don't think I'd have chosen to keep a store, if there'd been any other opening for me? But there wasn't, child. The place was overrun. Never a medico came out and found digging too much for him, but he fell back in despair on his profession. I didn't see my way to join their starvation band."
"Yes, THEN, Richard!—but now?" broke in Polly. "Now, it's quite, quite different. Look at the size Ballarat has grown—there are more than forty thousand people settled on it; Mr. Ocock told me so. And you know, dear, doctors have cleared out lately, not come fresh. There was that one, I forget his name, who drank himself to death; and the two, you remember, who were sold up just before Christmas." But this was an unfortunate line of argument to have hit on, and Polly blushed and stumbled.
Mahony laughed at her slip, and smoothed her hair. "Typical fates, love! They mustn't be mine. Besides, Polly, you're forgetting the main thing—how I hate the place, and how I've always longed to get away."
"No, I'm not. But please let me go on.—You know, Richard, every one believes some day Ballarat will be the chief city—bigger even than Geelong or Melbourne. And then to have a good practice here would mean ever such a lot of money. I'm not the only person who thinks so. There's Sara, and Mrs. Beamish—I know, of course, you don't care much what they say; but still—" Polly meant: still, you see, I have public opinion on my side. As, however, once more words failed her, she hastened to add: "John, too, is amazed to hear you think of going home to bury yourself in some little English village. He's sure there'd be a splendid opening for you here. John thinks very, very highly of you. He told me he believes you would have saved Emma's life, if you had been there."
"I'm much obliged to your brother for his confidence," said Mahony dryly; "but—"
"Wait a minute, Richard! You see, dear, I can't help feeling myself that you ought not to be too hasty in deciding. Of course, I know I'm young, and haven't had much experience, but ... You see, you're KNOWN here, Richard, and that's always something; in England you'd be a perfect stranger. And though you may say there are too many doctors on the Flat, still, if the place goes on growing as it is doing, there'll soon be room for more; and then, if it isn't you, it'll just be some one else. And that DOES seem a pity, when you are so clever—so much, much cleverer than other people! Yes, I know all about it; Mrs. Beamish told me it was you I owed my life to, not Dr. Rogers"—at which Mahony winced, indignant that anyone should have betrayed to Polly how near death she had been. "Oh, I DO want people to know you for what you really are!" said little Polly.