and on the latch and smile inquiringly. He looks confused and
conscious, but unlocks the door. Then I peep in, and often I see
something that pleases and charms and touches me so much that it shows
in my eyes when I lift them to his to say "Thank you." Sometimes, after
that, my host gives me the key and says gravely "Pray come in whenever
you like."

When Dr. La Touche offers me this hospitality I shall find out whether
he knows anything of that lavender-scented guest-room in Salemina's
heart. First, has he ever seen it? Second, has he ever stopped in it for
any length of time? Third, was he sufficiently enamoured of it to occupy
it on a long lease?

Chapter XVI. Salemina has her chance.

'And what use is one's life widout chances?
Ye've always a chance wid the tide.'
Jane Barlow.

I was walking with Lady Fincoss, and Francesca with Miss Clondalkin,
a very learned personage who has deciphered more undecipherable
inscriptions than any lady in Ireland, when our eyes fell upon an
unexpected tableau.

Seated on a divan in the centre of the drawing-room, in a most
distinguished attitude, in unexceptionable attire, and with the
rose-coloured lights making all her soft greys opalescent, was Miss
Salemina Peabody. Our exclamations of astonishment were so audible that
they must have reached the dining-room, for Lord Killbally did not keep
the gentlemen long at their wine.

Salemina cannot tell a story quite as it ought to be told to produce an
effect. She is too reserved, too concise, too rigidly conscientious. She
does not like to be the centre of interest, even in a modest contretemps
like being locked out of a room which contains part of her dress; but
from her brief explanation to Lady Killbally, her more complete and
confidential account on the way home, and Benella's graphic story when
we arrived there, we were able to get all the details.

When the inside-car passed out of view with us, it appears that Benella
wept tears of rage, at the sight of which Oonah and Molly trembled. In
that moment of despair and remorse, her mind worked as it must always
have done before the Salem priestess befogged it with hazy philosophies,
understood neither by teacher nor by pupil. Peter had come back, but
could suggest nothing. Benella forgot her 'science,' which prohibits
rage and recrimination, and called him a great, hulking, lazy vagabone,
and told him she'd like to have him i