family of twelve, counting Mum and Dad, lived in a six-room house and always managed to pack visitors in, there was never any fuss or any obligations. Yet here, Colin's mother and father seemed to think she owed them her presence all the time; as if she couldn't feel the chill in the air whenever she was with them. Even if her behaviour had always been perfectly correct, there would still have been a chill. Because Colin, with the great future they were always telling her about, had been forced to marry her at the most penniless stage of his life. It hadn't worried her to be a month pregnant with no wedding ring, but it had worried him and he'd done the most dramatic, the most original thing in his life when he took her to the Registry Office that day; then faced his parents and said he'd gladly give up his degree for her sake because he loved her and she was his wife. So they'd opened the doors of the big bedroom, and said it was Colin's and his wife's for as long as they wanted it, and so was the rest of the house, provided Colin would go on at Varsity. Colin said, ‘I know it's difficult, dear, but Mother and Dad are kind people really. You've had no chance to find out what they're really like because you've hardly talked to them. They are hurt, you know, at the way you refuse to approach them.’ ‘Why don't they approach me?’ ‘But it's up to you—don't you see that? Look, Meri, they've taken us in and they've accepted our marriage—after all, as Dad said, it's no good crying over split milk. They've done their bit. Now it's up to us. I'm sure you could get on fine with them…’ ‘I couldn't, Colin, I couldn't.’ … You could do some cooking in the kitchen, make the sort of things that Mother doesn't know how to make …’ he gave a shy smile—‘teach her a few things’. ‘Yes? You think she'd like Maori bread?’ ‘Why not?—I do.’ ‘Puha? Fish-heads?’ she insisted. She sat up straight, the colour heightened in her cheeks. ‘That's what I want, right now.’ She was challenging him; he refused to accept it. What he wanted to say was quite simple: My parents have changed some of their ideas, at their time of life, for our sake. It's not that they don't like Maoris, it's just that they've never had anything to do with them. Suddenly, we've opened up a new world to them. It's not easy for people of their age to become connected with a new world, new ways, new ideas—but good Lord, no-one can say they're not trying. As usual, his thoughts were clear enough: the difficulty was to express them. He sat by Meri and took her unresisting, unresponsive hand, as if that would help; but it made things more complicated to feel her presence so strongly, and the presence of his baby. ‘For Johnny's sake,’ he began awkwardly. She took her hand away; for some reason she seemed annoyed. These reasons were always beyond him. ‘Johnny's not even here yet,’ she said. ‘He won't be here for five months. It's a damn long time to sit here waiting, and it's silly to pretend to be what I'm not, just because a baby's on the way. Anyway, it's not your parents' baby.’ ‘What's that got to do with it?’ ‘Plenty.’ ‘Well anyway,’ he said, ‘I wish you'd compromise.’ And left her to wonder what compromise meant, and what difference it would make if she did it. He had dinner along with his parents that evening. They had sent up a tray for Meri; she was not feeling well, he said, and wanted to keep her feet up. ‘I hope the poor girl's not going to have a difficult time,’ his mother said. He listened for signs of what Meri had hinted at in his mother—lack of sympathy and understanding, impatience, dislike. But his mother merely sounded like one woman anxious about the pre-natal condition of another. ‘Apparently it's often difficult the first time,’ he said cheerfully. His parents glanced at each other. ‘The first time,’ his mother repeated. His father coughed. Did Colin—ah—intend to have a large family? Was it wise? Perhaps he didn't realise the expense of having a child. ‘Well, naturally, we'll wait,’ Colin said. ‘I wouldn't think of inflicting too much on you, but when we have a home of our own—well naturally, we'll have more children then.’ He was apologising to them, he was bitterly aware of how he must sound: the naughty school-boy trying to exonerate himself. He felt the atmosphere heavy with disapproval, and found himself blushing. His mother said gently, ‘We only want what's best for you, Colin.’