why didn't they? Why did they go off in this
style, without a word, leaving me a prey to suspense of the worst kind?
It was cruel. It was unkind. It was ungenerous. It was unjust. It was
unfair.

One thing alone remained to comfort and encourage me, and that was the
recollection of Miss O'Halloran's bewitching smile. The sweetness of
that smile lingered in my memory and seemed to give me hope. I would
see her again. I would ask her directly, and she would not have the
heart to refuse. Marion's graver face did not inspire that confident
hope which was caused by the more genial and sympathetic manner of her
sprightly elder sister.

Such was my thoughts after the ladies had taken their departure. But
these thoughts were soon interrupted and diverted to another channel.
O'Halloran rang for a servant and ordered up what he called "somethin'
warrum." That something soon appeared in the shape of two decanters, a
kettle of hot water, a sugar bowl, tumblers, wine-glasses, spoons, and
several other things, the list of which was closed by pipes and
tobacco.

O'Halloran was beyond a doubt an Irishman, and a patriotic one at that,
but for "somethin' warrum" he evidently preferred Scotch whiskey to
that which is produced on the Emerald Sod. Beneath the benign
influences of this draught he became more confidential, and I grew more
serene. We sat. We quaffed the fragrant draught. We inhaled the
cheerful nicotic fumes. We became friendly, communicative, sympathetic.

O'Halloran, however, was more talkative than I, and consequently had
more to say. If I'm not a good talker, I'm at least an excellent
listener, and that was all my new friend wanted. And so he went on
talking, quite indifferent as to any answers of mine; and, as I always
prefer the ease of listening to the drudgery of talking, we were both
well satisfied and mutually delighted.

First of all, O'Halloran was simply festive. He talked much about my
adventure and criticised it from various points of view, and gayly rallied
me about the lost "gyerrul."

From a consideration of me circumstances, he wandered gradually away to
his own. He lamented his present position in Quebec, which place he
found insufferably dull.

"I'd lave it at wanst," he said, "if I wern't deteened here by the
cleems of jewty. But I foind it dull beyond all exprission. Me only
occupeetion is to walk about the sthraits and throy to preserve the
attichood of shuparior baying, But I'm getting overwar