"Which is the fool, he who goes or she who sends?" I replied, mischievously.
"Can you ask?" he laughed. "A man is nearly always a fool when he does a woman's errand."
"But, seriously, you will go?"
He thought a little longer.
"I will," he answered, "if you will only promise me one thing."
"What is that?"
"That there will be an end of all this mystification."
"I promise you that, most solemnly," I answered. "Once on Irish soil, you shall know everything."
"Tell me now," he said, with sudden eagerness, "how is Winifred, asthore?"
There was a world of feeling in his voice, though he came out with the epithet laughingly.