mall embarrassments. Truly, she is a girl not to be found every
day.

He is accordingly most gracious to Mrs. Connolly; praises her ham,
extols her tea, says wonderful things about the chicken.

When tea is at an end, he rises gracefully, and expresses his desire to
smoke one more cigar and have a last look at the weather.

"You will be able to put us up?" says he.

"Oh yes, sir, sure."

He smiles beautifully, and with a benevolent request to Joyce to take
care of herself in his absence, leaves the room.

"He's a dale o' talk," says Mrs. Connolly, the moment his back is
turned. She is now sure that Joyce has some private grudge against him,
or at all events is not what she herself would call "partial to him."

"Yes," says Joyce. "He is very conversational. How it rains, still."

"Yes, it does," says Mrs. Connolly, comfortably. She is not at all put
out by the girl's reserved manner, having lived among the "ginthry" for
many years, and being well up to their "quare ways." A thought, however,
that had been formulating in her mind for a long time past--ever since,
indeed, she found her young lady could not return home until
morning--now compels her to give the conversation a fresh turn.

"I've got to apologize to ye, Miss, but since ye must stay the night wid
me, I'm bound to tell ye I have no room for ye but a little one leadin'
out o' me own."

"Are you so very full, then, Mrs. Connolly? I'm glad to hear that for
your sake."

"Full to the chin, me dear. Thim commercials always dhrop down upon one
just whin laste wanted."

"Then I suppose I ought to be thankful that you can give me a room at
all," says Joyce, laughing. "I'm afraid I shall be a great trouble to
you."

"Ne'er a scrap in life, me dear. 'Tis proud I am to be of any sarvice to
ye. An' perhaps 'twill make ye aisier in yer mind to know as your undher
my protection, and that no gossip can come nigh ye."

The good woman means well, but she has flown rather above Joyce's head,
or rather under her feet.

"I'm delighted to be with you," says Miss Kavanagh, with a pretty smile.
"But as for protection--well, the Land Leaguers round here are not so
bad as that one should fear for one's life in a quiet village like
this."

"There's worse than Land Leaguers," says Mrs. Connolly. "There's thim
who talk."

"Talk--of what?" asks Joyce, a little vaguely.

"Well now, me dear, sure ye haven't lived so long widout knowin' there's
cruel people in the world