when you get old; you may buy
an opera house or a yacht, but you can't buy the real stuff that makes
life worth living."

Phyl glanced out of the window at the park, then as though she had found
some inspiration there, she turned to Pinckney.

"If you don't mind about the money, then why don't you let me live here
instead of letting the place? I can live here by myself and I would be
happy here. I won't be happy if I leave it."

"Well," said Pinckney, "there's your father's wish, first of all."

"I'm sure if he knew how I felt, he wouldn't mind," said Phyl mournfully,
turning her gaze again to the park.

"On top of that," went on Pinckney, "there's--your age. Phyl, it wouldn't
ever do; it's not I that am saying it, it's custom, the world, society."

Phyl, like the hooked salmon that has taken the gaudy fly, felt a check
and recognised that a Power had her in hand, recognised in the light-going
and fair-speaking Pinckney something of adamant, a will not to be broken
or bent.

She felt for a moment a revolt against herself for having fallen to the
lure and allowed herself to come to friendly terms with him. Then this
feeling faded a bit. The very young are very weak in the face of
constituted authority--besides, there was always at the back of Pinckney
her father's wish.

"And then again, on top of that," he went on, "there's the question of
your coming to live with us; your father wished it."

"In America!" cried Phyl. "Do you mean I am to live in America?"

"Well, we live there; why not? It's not a bad place to live in--and what
else are you to do?"

She could not answer him. This time she saw that the bogey man had got her
and no mistake. America to her seemed as far as the moon and far less
familiar. If Pinckney had declared that it was necessary for her to die,
she would have been a great deal more frightened, but the prospect would
not have seemed much more desolate and forbidding and final.

He saw at once the trouble in her mind and guessed the cause. He had a
rare intuition for reading minds, and it seemed to him he could read
Phyl's as easily as though the outside of her head were clear glass--he
had cause to modify this cocksure opinion later on.

"Don't worry," he said. "If you don't like America when you see it, you
can come back to Ireland. I daresay we can arrange something; anyhow,
don't let us meet troubles half way."

"When am I to go?" said Phyl.

"Sure, Phyl, you can stay as long as y