Kate arrives in Glasgow

Kate drew her woollen shawl tightly round her shoulders. She shivered as she watched the dark, forbidding banks of the River Clyde lined with docks and warehouses so different from the green fields of Ireland, drift past on their way to their destination, The Broomielaw. The passage across the Irish Sea from Larne had been anything but smooth. Kate felt she would have been queasy anyway, but the motion of the ship and the smell of unwashed clothes and bodies in steerage had made her morning sickness unbearable.
      She looked up at the tall, handsome man beside her. My husband -she savoured the words - my husband.
      In his fine woollen suit and Ulster cape he stood head and shoulders above the other men thronging the deck.
      Kate's nose wrinkled at the stench from the river blending now with the offensive odour from the steerage passengers.
      "Why are we going steerage?" she had asked Pearce, her husband of three days - her husband.
      He had brushed the question aside in his cultured accent. "A temporary financial embarrassment, my dear. That's all. Nothing for you to worry about. We'll be back on our feet in no time."
      Kate coughed and Pearce glanced down at her. "You are not going to be sick again, are you? We're almost there."
      Shaking her head Kate said: "No ... no, I'm fine." She hoped she would be, if they tied up soon.

Ten years later at the International Exhibition in Kelvingrove in 1888

Daniel, as he trailed out after the rest of his family, was conscious of two facts: the first, he and his family were the centre of all eyes, every stuck-up toff, every la-de-dah snob in the place had studied the Kinnons and found them wanting. Not only were they scum, they were Irish scum at that; the second, once safely home in Garth Street, he was set fair to get the thrashing of his young life from Dadda.
      For not only had he been the guilty party, who had stuffed Hannah to capacity with a variety of rich Indian Sweets, there was still that other matter. He knew in his heart it would be bound to come out, one way or another. So he might just as well confess to it ... aye, he had taken Hannah on the switchback railway. And not just once. She'd had two rides on the thrill-a-minute coaster. And if that plus the glut of sweets had made her sick, then yes, of course, he was sorry.
      But Hannah had squealed with delight throughout her exciting, never-to-be-repeated journeys. All right, she had been sick afterwards, but if they were apportioning blame, whose choice had it been to make them all suffer the torment of the damned high tea, no less in that temple to high fashion and false manners, that swanky restaurant in which they had no place, nor indeed any idea of how to conduct themselves?
      True, she could equally well have spewed forth her meal in the Working Men's Dining Room. But somehow Daniel had the feeling, rightly or wrongly, that it would not have caused such a furore there, nor been regarded as a studied affront to the other diners - all of them as lowly born as the Kinnons themselves.