never see it. No—I meant what I said. Are you happy in Ireland?"

I swear if I had not said it in a whisper it would have frightened her. As sure as Fate, she would have run away. But because I whispered—by the chance of God, too, perhaps—she just spoke out of her little heart and told me she was not.

It was so simple and so genuine an admission that, though I knew it well, I was still utterly unprepared to hear her confess it. It took me completely by surprise. I found myself marvelling at her ingenuousness, for, as you must know well, it was so unlike her sex, who will seldom admit to any emotion but what does justice to their appearance, and never will they confess it to a total stranger.

It disarmed me. Had she said she was happy, indeed, I could have gone on gaily, knowing what I believed. But there is no so violent an interruption to conversation as the sudden truth. For a few moments it left me in silence. I could not have believed it possible that she was so unhappy as that, and all through my mind there surged an overwhelming tide of bitter resentment against those who were the cause of it. I cursed that young cub in England from the bottom of my heart. I have no doubt my eyes had a ludicrous expression in them as I glanced at the Miss Fennells before us.

"What makes you unhappy?" I asked, at length.

She looked nervously about her as though there might be listeners everywhere.

"It's not like where I come from. It's all so dark and grey. It was so bright in Dominica. I know the sun shines here, like it did to-day—but it's so different."

"White lace curtains make a difference," said I. "So do black dresses. Why don't you wear your canary-colored satin?"

For just one instant, she stopped quite still. I was almost sure that I had frightened her too much; but perhaps it was only with curiosity that her eyes burnt through that thick impenetrable veil. Of course, she was curious. I guess how her heart set beating straight away.

"What do you know about my satin dress?" she asked, as we walked on again.

"I know a lot," said I; and then it seemed to me the moment I had been waiting for. I took the letter from my pocket.

"Are you good at keeping secrets?" I asked.

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