still have time.

The boys came in. They stared open-eyed at Alice when they saw her still
sitting in her rough school things, a very cross expression on her face.
David came up to her at once; he was the favorite, and people said he
had a way with him. Whatever they meant by that, most people did what
David Tennant liked. He stood in front of his sister now and said:

"What's the matter? And where's the little Irish beauty?"

"For goodness' sake don't speak about her," said Alice. "She's driving
me nearly mad."

"Your sister is naturally much annoyed, David," said his mother.
"Kathleen is evidently a very tiresome girl. She has locked the door of
their mutual bedroom, and declines to open it; she says that as the door
happens to be in her half of the room, she has perfect control over it."

David whistled. Ben burst out laughing.

"Well, now that is Irish," David said.

"If you take her part I shall hate you all the rest of my life," said
Alice, speaking with great passion.

"But can't you wait just for once?" asked David. "Any one could tell
she is just trying it on. She'll get tired of sitting there by herself
if only you have patience."

"But I am due at Cassandra's for supper" and Mary Addersley and Rhoda
Pierpont are to call for me at half-past seven."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said David.--"Ben, leave off teasing." For Ben
was whistling and jumping about, and making the most expressive faces at
poor Alice,--"I will see what I can do," he said, and he ran upstairs.
David was very musical; indeed, the soul of music dwelt in his eyes, in
his voice, in his very step. He might in some respects have been an
Irish boy himself. He bent down now and whistled very softly, and in the
most flute-like manner, "Garry Owen" through the keyhole. There was a
restless sound in the room, and then a cross voice said:

"Go away."

David stopped whistling "Garry Owen," and proceeded to execute a most
exquisite performance of "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning." Kathleen
trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. David was now whistling right into
her room "The Wearing of the Green." Kathleen flung down her pen, making
a splash on the paper.

"Go away," she called out. "What are you doing there?"

"The outside of this door doesn't belong to you," called David, "and if
I like to whistle through the keyhole you can't prevent me;" and he
began "Garry Owen" again.

Kathleen rushed to the door and flung it open. The tears were s