‘The cost of living is high these days,’ his father said. ‘Exorbitant really, for young married couples. A young chap on his own might get along all right …’ ‘But married, and with a baby on the way,’ his mother went on ‘and studying, that's different.’ He hardly heard them; something else was going through his mind. Maori children, he thought, that's what they don't want. He looked up, looked straight at them, but he couldn't say it. He kept eating automatically. One half of him argued: we'll have a whole troupe of kids if we like. We've got our own life to lead, Meri and me; and the other half reasoned: where would you be without them, what kind of future would you have without their help to start you off? And what else could he do but study, anyway?—he'd never done anything else, never had to. When he'd finished studying, what else could he do but talk for his career, argue, cajole, reason; thumb through dusty volumes, examine evidence, question, cross-question, all for the sake of the truth and his fee. Meri brought her own dishes downstairs, and said she would help his mother with the washing-up. Her lower lip stuck out truculently, and there was a look in her eye he had come to know lately, and wonder at. He didn't quite trust her in this mood. ‘I'll help mother, you go back to bed.’ But she refused, and his mother said, ‘Let Mary help me, it's good of her to offer.’ He couldn't leave it at that. Feeling ashamed but determined, he sat at the dining room table with his books. His father had gone to the study; the servery door between the rooms was still slightly open; he was eavesdropping in peace. Perhaps what the two women said did not amount to much after all. His mother was always, he had to admit it, slightly overbearing with young people; and his wife, there was no getting away from it, was very often sulky. His mother talked at some length about pregnancy: how you must do this and that, and be careful to avoid doing so and so. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘fears of having a miscarriage are natural enough; but believe me a baby is very well protected in the womb. Do you think, perhaps, a little more walking…’ ‘I don't like walking,’ Meri said. ‘Not round here.’ ‘No? Well there is a clinic, you know, where exercises are taught. I always feel it's such a help for a pregnant woman to mix with other expectant mothers. It makes you feel more secure.’ ‘I feel all right,’ Meri said shortly. ‘I do feel, though, that the baby might benefit by a little exercise. And you'd feel so much happier, Mary. Sitting all day … constipation …’ And so on. Very little from Meri. What she did say expressed no gratitude at this concern for her welfare. He had half a mind to throw open the door, take issue with them: ‘Mother, Meri hasn't had a sheltered upbringing, she knows all about it. She's helped deliver two of her sisters' babies, she can manage her own pregnancy.’ And, ‘Meri, Mother's only trying to help. Can't you see that, can't you be gracious about it?’ But such fair-mindedness, he knew, would not be welcomed by either of them. They'd look at him and say, ‘Whose side are you on?’ And for the life of him … he didn't know what his reply would be. After a period of silence, with only the dishes clattering occasionally, he heard his mother again. ‘Mary, I don't want you to think I'm interfering. But do you intend to have many children?’ Oh God, no, he thought. Meri said, ‘We haven't really talked it over yet. Depends on Colin. But I'd like a lot.’ Her voice for a moment sounded shy. ‘I'd like boys and girls, about four of each.’ ‘Eight? That's quite a large family nowadays.’ ‘There's twelve in mine’, Meri said, suddenly defensive. ‘Yes, but …’ If she had said, yes, but yours is Maori, he would really have had to interfere. Luckily she didn't. ‘To begin with, a lawyer's life can be very difficult to start with. Sometimes it takes years to become established.’ ‘Oh, Colin'll make it,’ Meri said easily. ‘He's cut out for it.’ ‘Yes, of course he'll make it.’ His mother, her voice become slightly sharp, was now launched upon her favourite topic. ‘Colin has wanted to be a lawyer since he was fourteen,’ he heard her say. ‘All of his efforts and I need hardly say all of ours have been bent towards that. He could make a very fine, very upstanding lawyer.’ Pause. ‘But in that position, natural talent is not everything. Money is important, and standards … standards are most important,’ his mother said firmly.