yacinth determined to risk an appearance
in the college square in broad daylight rather than continue his
ministrations. While he was searching for his hat Miss O'Dwyer became
suddenly quite calm, and began to explain to him how immensely the cause
of Ireland's independence had benefited by the demonstration in the
Rotunda. Hyacinth listened anxiously, waiting for the next explosion,
and experienced very great relief when the door opened and Augusta Goold
walked in.

Unlike Mary O'Dwyer, she was entirely mistress of herself. Her cheeks
were not a shade paler than usual, nor her hand at all less cool and
firm. She stretched herself, after her usual fashion, in the largest
available chair and lit a cigarette.

'You look excited, my dear Mary,' she said--'a little overexcited,
perhaps. Have you had tea? No? Perhaps you will be so kind as to ring
the bell, Mr. Conneally.'

Mary O'Dwyer repeated the information she had given Hyacinth about her
sleepless night, and complimented Augusta Goold on her nerve.

'As for poor little me,' she went on, 'I'm like a--like a--you remember
the kind of thing, don't you?--like a--I'm not sure if I know the name
of the thing myself.'

She relapsed into a weak giggle, and Hyacinth stooped for the bottle of
smelling-salts, which had rolled under the sofa. Augusta Goold was much
less sympathetic. She fixed her with a strong stare of amazement and
disgust. Apparently this treatment was the right one, for the giggling
stopped almost immediately.

'I see you have got some sticking-plaster on your face, Mr. Conneally,'
she said, when Mary O'Dwyer had quieted down.

'Yes,' said Hyacinth, 'and a good-sized bump behind my ear.'

'I suppose this business will be very awkward for you in college. Will
they turn you out?'

'I'm sure they will if they find out that I threw that stone at Shea.'

'You made a very good shot,' said Augusta, smiling at the recollection.
'But how on earth did you come to have a stone that size in the hall
with you?'

Hyacinth told the story of the man who had been felled by the chair and
his murderous bequest.

'That's the proper spirit,' said Augusta. 'I admire that man, and he
couldn't have passed his stone on to better hands than yours. Shea went
down as if he had been shot. I was afraid of my life he would clutch at
my skirts as he fell or squirm up against me after he was down. But he
lay quite still. By the way, Mary, I suppose your dress was ruined?'

Mar