n she said:--

"But I don't see how we are to avoid discussing them, for it is my
money that supports the agitation."

"I never thought of that. So it is. Do you wish to withdraw it?"

"You are not angry with me, Ned? You won't think it mean of me to
withdraw my money? How are you going to go on without my money? You see
I am wrecking your political career."

"Oh," he said, "I shall be able to get on without it. Now, good-bye."

"May I go to the station with you?"

"If you like, only let us talk of something else. Everyone's conscience
is his own law and you must act accordingly."

She trotted by his side, and she begged of him not to laugh at her when
he said that to be truly logical she would have to turn him out of the
house, or at least to charge him for his board and lodging.

The intonation of his voice laid her heart waste; she felt she was done
for, and she walked home repeating the words, "I am done for."

As she passed through her garden she saw that her flowers were dying
for want of water, and she gave them a few cans of water; but she could
not do much work, and though the cans were heavy, they were not as
heavy as her heart. She sat down under the apple-tree and remembered
her life. Her best days were her school-days. Then life was beginning.
Now it seemed to her nearly over, and she only five-and-twenty. She
never could take the same interest in politics as she had once taken,
nor in books. She felt that her intelligence had declined. She was
cleverer as a girl than she was as a woman.

Ned was coming home for dinner, and some time that evening she would
have to tell him that she had read his manuscript. She would have liked
to meet him at the station, but thought it would be better not to go.
The day wore away. Ned was in his best humour, and when she told him
why she did not go to the station to meet him, he said it was foolish
of her not to have come, for there was nothing he liked better than to
stroll home with her in the evening, the road was so pleasant, etc.

She could see that he had not noticed her dress or what he was eating,
and it was irritating to see him sitting there with his spoon full of
soup telling her how the Irish people would have to reduce their
expenditure and think a little less of priests--for a while, at
least--unless they were minded to pass away, to become absorbed in
America.

"I like Brennan," he said, throwing himself back in his chair. "He is a
clever man. B