and had
stayed for tea, as friendly as you please. Annie was all right.

The gossip of Cluhir had been as mistaken in the matter of the Mangans
as gossip often is. Francis Mangan had married his wife for the
entirely unjudicious reason that her beauty had mastered his common
sense. After his marriage his common sense, having regained the upper
hand, was satisfied that, even though her

"Charms were to change by to-morrow
And fleet in his arms,"

she would still be the only wife in the world for him. None the less
he did not pretend indifference to the knowledge that his wife was the
handsomest woman in Cluhir, and there was, indeed, no reason why he
should do so. And thus the Big Doctor had a double triumph.

There came a fumbling tap on the door, it opened a little, and
Hannah's head came twisting round it.

"Docthor!" spoke the head, like a Teraph, "the Misthress says to have
ye come in. The supper's ready, and the priest is in it."

This remarkable statement was accepted by the Doctor with composure,
as expressing the fact that Father Greer had arrived.

"Tell her I'm coming this minute," he said, rising ponderously to his
feet; "say to them to go down without me."

He locked up the fees that were lying on the table, being a careful
man, and washed his huge, pale hands with the particularity that a
doctor brings to that task. Huge though they were, they had the
sensitiveness that is the gift of music, and is also part of the
endowment of the surgeon.

"Ah, here he is now!" said Mrs. Mangan, as the Doctor came,
enormously, into the small dining-room. "For shame for you, Francis,
to be so late."

"Ah, don't scold him, Mrs. Mangan!" said the priest simpering
conventionally. "Wasn't it ministering to the afflicted that delayed
him! Doctors mustn't be subjected to the rules that bind ordinary
people!"

"That's right, Father," said the Doctor, beginning to carve a large,
cold goose, with the skill that his trade bestows; "stand up for me
now! Don't let her bully me--though indeed I might be used to it by
this time!"

"Doesn't he look like it, the poor fella!" scoffed Mrs. Mangan,
directing a melting look at her husband; "starved and pairsecuted!
That's what he is!"

Father Greer smiled permissively over the rim of his glass of whisky
and water; it was strong and good, and the food was good also, and
abundant. Mrs. Mangan's suppers were as generous as her own contours,
and were noted for their excelle