glad, no doubt, of her silence, they declared they must be going home. Miss Mary held out her hand.

"Good-night, Mrs. Townshend," she said.

But it needed very little cleverness to be cleverer than that.

"Oh, we're coming back, too," said Bellwattle. "We had just agreed to turn when we heard your voices."

So we all set back for Ballysheen. Now, this was the moment I had been waiting for. Their suspicion fell least upon me. By her questions alone, if not also from the fact that she was a neighbor, it was their strategy to manœuvre that Bellwattle should walk with them. Not for one moment would they have trusted her alone with Clarissa; wherefore, the path being a narrow one, Miss Teresa walked first, leaving Bellwattle in the charge of Miss Mary. And so it fell out that I walked with Clarissa alone.

You may imagine how, with those few moments before me, my thoughts were like leaves on a swollen stream. Round and round my head they eddied and swirled, and not a one could I grasp to give it words. We must have walked fifty yards before a thing was spoken. Now, this is not my way with women. As a rule I talk to them with ease. True, it is while they are talking to Dandy, and doubtless that gives me confidence. But in this case everything seemed different. I might never have spoken to a woman before. But when we had walked so far in silence it came to desperation with me. I said anything; what, indeed, seemed nonsense at the time. In the light of things, as I see them now, I can imagine that it was the very best beginning I could have made.

"Are you happy in Ireland?" said I.

She looked round at me quickly. From an utter stranger I can understand how odd that question must have seemed.

"Do I like Ireland, do you mean?" she asked, and that was the first time properly that I heard her voice. It was a whisper, full of timidity. I had to bend my head to catch the words, and they sounded like the steps of feet in satin slippers through some far-off corridor of an old house. This is my way of describing things. It may mean nothing to you. I only know I heard the tiny heel taps, and unconsciously I lowered my voice to answer to them.

"No," said I, and my voice ran almost to a whisper too. "No—I didn't mean that. You're shut up all day in that room with the white lace curtains. I don't suppose you can either like or dislike Ireland. You 

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