Another pause. Then Meri's voice, soft and careless. ‘Yes, Mrs Groves, I know what you're trying to say.’ And his mother—‘I'm not trying to say anything, Meri, I'm merely …’ The breeze slammed the servery door, but did not shut it. ‘This damned thing,’ Meri said, and closed it with a loud, enraged bang. Their voices rose, drifted and sank like the wind itself. He heard Meri's footsteps thudding to the kitchen door—‘Why can't you mind your own damned business?’ were her parting words—and then thudding on upstairs. The bedroom door slammed. He bent his head and all his efforts to appear as if, engrossed in work, he had not heard a thing. His mother came in, and stood uncertainly when she saw him. ‘She really is a very rude girl,’ she said. ‘Your Mary, isn't she?’ He went to bed late. Meri seemed to be asleep, though when he touched her shoulder she moved right over to the edge of the bed, and didn't answer when he asked, ‘Are you awake?’ He knew she was; she was too tense for sleep. But he decided not to disturb her: he didn't want hysterics on his hands. And he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, he'd have to think about it. Something would have to be said, something about how natural it was for his mother to worry, she'd be just the same with a daughter of her own, if she had one. Indeed, he'd say (perhaps this would help), that was probably the whole trouble—his mother lacked a daughter and was trying to make Meri a substitute. But he'd tell her, somewhere along the line, that she had been rude and really ought to apologise. And in case that made it sound as if he was on his mother's side, he'd tell Meri he understood how she felt as well; understood perfectly. Of course, she was going to make a fine mother. It was all coming naturally to her, he could see that, and it made him feel proud … When he woke, at seven o'clock as usual, and saw the note on Meri's pillow, his first emotion was not surprise but unpleasant anticipation. It was as if he'd been half expecting to see that note, and the only thing he wondered at was exactly what it contained, precisely how far she had gone. Before he opened it he got up slowly, put on his dressing gown and pulled back the blinds. The light flooded in, and showed that in the open wardrobe only his own clothes, neatly pressed, hung in their place. Meri's were gone. So was her big grey suitcase. And so was she, he knew, spreading out the note on the dressing table, by the side of the transistor radio his parents had lent Meri. His wife had written that she'd gone to her parent's place, and wanted to have the baby there. She couldn't stay here a minute longer. ‘Don't ask me to come back, because I won't. But you know where I am if you want me. I'll come back to you if you want me, because I still love you, but not to them. It's up to you.’ She'd signed it, ‘Your Meri. Arohanui.’ For quite a while he just stood there looking at the note as if something written between the lines in invisible ink might suddenly appear. But nothing did: he knew that was all he was going to get. ‘It's up to you.’ And so it was, he knew; so it was. From downstairs came the sounds of his mother preparing his usual early breakfast. She did breakfast in three shifts; first his, then his father's and her own, lastly Meri's at about nine thirty. He scratched his head, then folded the note and put it in his pocket. No good thinking about this on an empty stomach. He'd have breakfast first, then think about it; that was the way things were done. He opened the bedroom door and went downstairs, whistling bravely.

? For many years there has been a Maori Club in Sydney, catering for the considerable Maori population there. The club has provided entertainment, welcomed visitors from New Zealand, and assisted in cases of distress. Recently the club has been re-organised as the Maori Club Limited, and is attempting to raise sufficient funds to obtain its own premises. Its aim is to become a social and cultural centre in Sydney for Maoris and their friends, and a convenient place at which they can meet and entertain visiting friends from New Zealand. It is also envisaged that with its own premises, the club will be in a position to increase its charitable activities. People wishing to know more about the venture should write to the Hon. Secretary, The Maori Club Limited, 4 Gladstone Avenue, Hunters Hill, Sydney, Australia.