s time for her to see and be seen," my godmother went on. "You are
twenty years old, are you not, Bawn? Why, at twenty I had seen a deal of
the world, had travelled far away from Castle Clody and the valley of
the Moy. Next season she ought to be presented, Lady St. Leger. I shall
take her up and do it myself, if you will not. She ought not to be
hidden away."

At this my grandmother looked alarmed, and said something under her
breath of which I caught but a name or two, my Uncle Luke's and
Theobald's.

From whatever my grandmother had said Miss Champion seemed to dissent
even violently.

"It is all forgotten," she said, "and if any remembered it they would
take my view of it and not yours. He should have stayed and faced it
out. No jury would have brought in a worse verdict than manslaughter,
and if it had been tried outside Dublin, in Irish Ireland, no jury would
have convicted at all. I know the people adore Luke's memory because he
struck that blow in defence of a woman. Why will you behave as though
you held him guilty, Lady St. Leger?"

She gained heat as she proceeded, and although she spoke hastily, and
hardly above her breath I heard every word.

It was not the first indication I had had that my Uncle Luke's
disappearance was connected somehow with a deed of violence, although
the details had never been told to me. Now I spoke up.

"I am sure that Uncle Luke did nothing we need be ashamed of, Gran," I
said. "I remember him well, and he was very kind. I can see him now
putting my canary's little leg in splints when it had broken it, and the
dogs adored him. Old Dido yet listens for his return."

My grandmother began to weep softly.

"I did not want Bawn to know anything about those dreadful happenings,
Mary," she said. "And whatever I believe or feel about Luke would not
stand in the eyes of the law, since I am only his mother and why should
I not believe in my son?"

"It is my quarrel with you and Lord St. Leger that you will act as
though you believed him guilty," my godmother said. "As for Bawn, Lady
St. Leger, you must let me tell her the story. It is time that she
should know it. Not now, but another time when it will not grieve you.
And you will let her come with me to Dublin?"

"If her grandfather consents, Mary. I have no doubt that he will consent
if you ask him. But Bawn will need some clothes if she is to see your
friends. What are we going to do about her clothes?"

"You must leave that