et; yesterday she had caught sight of him
driving towards Fitzwilliam Place in a four-wheeler. She had fortunately
a visit to pay in that neighbourhood, and was rewarded by seeing the
Marquis's cab draw up before the Scullys' door. The mere fact that he
should use a cab instead of an outside car was a point to consider, but
when she noticed that one of the blinds was partially drawn down, her
heart sank. Nor did the secret of this suspicious visit long remain her
exclusive property. As if revealed by those mysteriously subtle oral and
visual faculties observed in savage tribes, by which they divine the
approach of their enemies or their prey, two days had not elapsed before
the tongue of every chaperon was tipped with the story of the
four-wheeler and the half-drawn blind, but it was a distinctly
latter-day instinct that had led these ladies to speak of there having
been luggage piled upon the roof of this celebrated cab. Henceforth eye,
ear, and nostril were open, and in the quivering ardour of the chase
they scattered through the covers of Cork Hill and Merrion Square,
passing from one to the other, by means of sharp yelps and barkings,
every indication of the trail that came across their way. Sometimes
hearkening to a voice they had confidence in, they rallied at a single
point, and then an old bitch, her nose in the air, her capstrings
hanging lugubriously on either side of her weatherbeaten cheeks, would
utter a deep and prolonged baying; a little farther on the scent was
recovered, and, with sterns wagging and bristles erect, they hunted the
quarry vigorously. Every moment he was expected to break--fear was even
expressed that he might end by being chopped.

The Shelbourne Hotel was a favourite meet, and in the ladies'
drawing-room each fresh piece of news was torn with avidity. The
consumption of notepaper was extraordinary. Two, three, four, and even
five sheets of paper were often filled with what these scavengeresses
could rake out of the gutters of gossip. 'Ah! me arm aches, and the
sleeve of me little coat is wore; I am so eager to write it all off to
me ant, that I am too impatient to wait to take it off,' was the verbal
form in which the girl in red explained her feelings on the subject.
Bertha Duffy declared she would write no more; that she was ruining
herself in stamps. Nor were the pens of the Brennans silent; and looking
over their shoulders, on which the mantles of spinsterhood were fast
descending,