husband for you. Isn't he
young and bonny, like yourself? And Captain Cardew has a white head.
He's old by you, Miss Bawn."

I remembered the old, childish days when she had been tenderer to me
than Maureen, and she looked at me so wistfully that I could not be
angry with her. Indeed, I could have almost wept, like the child of long
ago, on her comfortable breast. And I was hardly vexed that she called
Anthony Cardew old. What did it matter, since I loved him, and he would
always, always be the finest gentleman in the world to me?

I kissed her and left her, promising to come again and to bring Miss
Champion with me, and I drove back in the cab to St. Stephen's Green. At
one moment my heart was heavy because Captain Cardew was angry with me;
and at another it was irrationally light, because he loved me and
breathed the same air with me. Was it only a few hours ago since we had
been almost strangers and I had believed him far away at the ends of the
earth? And how the world had changed for him and for me since! To be
sure, I had been unready, and I realized now that I had no address which
should find him. But I could find out where he was. Why, any second I
might meet him in these streets! And the mere possibility made them
blossom like the rose. Men like Anthony Cardew did not easily hide
themselves. I would find him, and the foolish misunderstanding would be
cleared up. As for the other difficulties--what did they matter since
we loved each other? I had that happy confidence in him that he would
sweep through obstacles as a bright sword through a maze of thorns.

When I arrived at St. Stephen's Green, expecting to find my godmother
sleeping or at least resting, I found her, to my amazement, up and
bustling about, and her maid packing our trunks.

"Why, how long you have been, Bawn!" she said; "and I wanted you, child.
We are going home this evening. There will be just time to catch the six
o'clock express. Louise has packed for you, and we can dine in the
train."

"But why, why?" I asked, cold dismay seizing on my heart.

"I will tell you presently. Poor Bawn--what a shame that your gaieties
should be interrupted! I would leave you behind me, if I could. But
perhaps we shall return."

She drew me to her and kissed me. Of course she could say no more, since
Louise was in the room; but glancing at the dressing-table, which was
now stripped of its pretty things in silver and tortoise-shell, a letter
addressed in m