talk we had the other day of Josef?"

"Yes."

"When you told me he believed women to have some undeveloped psychic
power which, with study, could be developed to revolutionize the world?"

"I didn't say it so clearly as that, but that is what he means."

"Do you believe it, Katrine?"

"I don't know, Mr. Ravenel."

"Do you believe that if you tried to help me, even if I were far away,
you could?"

"Again I don't know, Mr. Ravenel."

"I do," he said, in the tone of one thoroughly convinced. "I have been
thinking it over, and have come to the conclusion that Josef is right.
You could make me do anything, Katrine. Will you try? In these days to
come, when I am away with all those people, will you keep me from
temptation?"

She hesitated for a minute, not knowing whether he was jesting or not.

"Believe me," she said, at length, "I will try."

VI

DERMOTT GIVES A DINNER AT THE OLD LODGE

The following morning, as she stood clipping the roses, Dermott
McDermott leaned over the hedge.

"Will you marry me, Katrine?" he said, with no salutation whatever.

"Will you wait," she inquired, "till I've finished cutting the roses?"

"But I'm in earnest," he announced.

She held the clippers in her gloved hand to shade the sun from her eyes,
regarding him in her friendly, companionable way.

"Dermott," she said, "what makes you such a liar?" The word as she spoke
it of him seemed almost a compliment.

"You've been associating, I fear, with some narrow and confined spirit,
who repeats things exactly as they occurred. I've more imagination!" he
explained, with a laugh. "Why should I not change things a bit?" he
continued. "Every Irishman's got to have one of three vices: whiskey,
love-making, or lying. Mention me one of any distinction who had none of
these!"

"There was St. Patrick," Katrine suggested, a laugh held under her
eyelids.

"He's so remote you can prove nothing against him. Take another that I
have later news of."

"Wellington."

"He was never an Irishman."

"And Burke."

"And I'm thinkin', begging your pardon, Mistress Katrine, there was a
lady to be explained away in his case. No," he said, waving her
suggestion far from him, "all the Irish are alike. They've, as I say,
one of three vices. I lie, that's why I'm so interestin', especially to
the ladies. Suppose I say: 'Old Mrs. O'Hooligan was tripped by a dog in
the lane yesterday!' Who cares? Not one soul in a thousand! But instead,