me into buying half-a-dozen newspapers and
started me off for Dublin with his blessing."

"That was Davy Stevens," said Phyl, speaking for the first time.

Pinckney's entrance had produced upon her the same effect as his voice.

You know the feeling that some places produce on the mind when first
seen--

"I have been here before
But when or how I cannot tell
I know the lights along the shore--"

It seemed to her that she had known Pinckney and had met him in some
place, but when or how she could not possibly remember. The feeling had
almost worn off now. It had thrilled her, but the thrill had vanished and
the concrete personality of the man was dominating her mind--and not very
pleasantly.

There was nothing in his manner or his words to give offence; he was quite
pleasant and nice but--but--well, it was almost as though she had met some
one whom she had known and liked and who had changed.

The little jump of the heart that his voice caused in her had been
followed by a chill. His manner displeased her vaguely. He seemed so
assured, so every day, so cold.

It seemed to her that not only did he hold his entertainers at a critical
distance, but that he was somehow wanting in respectfulness to
herself--Lunatic ideas, for the young man could not possibly have been
more cordial towards two utter strangers and as for respectfulness, one
does not treat a girl in a pigtail exactly as one treats a full-grown
woman.

"Oh, Davy Stevens, was it?" said Pinckney, glancing down at Phyl. "Well, I
never knew the meaning of peaceful persuasion till he had sold out his
stock on me. Now in the States that man would likely have been President
by this--Things grow quicker over there."

"And what did you think of Dublin?" asked Hennessey.

"Well," said the young man, "the two things that struck me most about
Dublin were the dirt and the want of taxicabs."

A dead silence followed this remark.

Never tell an Irishman that Dublin is dirty.

Hennessey was dumb, and as for Phyl, she knew now that she hated this
man.

"Of course," went on the other, "it's a fine old city and I'm not sure
that I would alter it or even brush it up. I should think it's pretty much
the same to-day as when Lever wrote of it. It's a survival of the past,
like Nuremberg. All the same, one doesn't want to live in a survival of
the past--does one?"

"I've lived there a good many years," said Henne