MORNING SERIAL

“PLEASE, please, Ieuan.” Her voice was eloquent with pity. Her eyes filled with tears.

“I–I’m so sorry, Ieuan. So sorry for him. It was horrible, horrible.” Ieuan looked into her face.

“He was a fine man, Sally,” he choked. “He was the only pal I had.” He brushed away his tears, roughly. His eyes glinted with anger. “The foundry did it, Sally – the foundry killed him. I saw it happen – he had no chance. I hate it, hate it.”

“Yes, Ieuan, the foundry did it, I know. Everybody knows,” she answered low.

“That’s why I came to see you tonight. You must get away from it now, Ieuan. You must. Ever since it happened I’ve been thinking about you, and they were terrible thoughts. Oh, promise me you will, Ieuan. Promise me.”

A woman passed by. She paused and glanced at them as if in search of someone, then hurried on. A cold wind blew up the deserted street. The rain began to fall.

Ieuan drew her into a doorway.

“I promise,” he whispered. “Honest. But, Sally” – he placed a hand under her chin and raised her face – “please go home now. Please. It’s been wonderful to see you, and you’ll never know how glad I am that you came.” She smiled wistfully.

“I am better, Ieuan,” she emphasized. “Really I am.

“I–I’ll see you Saturday night, shall I?” “No, no, you mustn’t, Sally.” “But I’m better, Ieuan,” she insisted softly.

“That’s why I came out tonight.”

“You – you’re just telling me that to make me think you are well again.”

“No, Ieuan. I’ve told you the truth. I’ve been out of bed three days now. I will see you Saturday night?”

He stood a while before giving his answer. “Please, Ieuan.” “All right, then. I’ll meet you, Sally. But if you’re not fit you mustn’t come out.”

“No,” she said. “If I feel ill I shan’t come.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “At the park, Ieuan. I’ll meet you there at six. And please, please, don’t worry about well, you know.”