"I'm worried about you. Don't let those people up at the Patch get at you again, Winnie—for pity's sake, don't! Take care of yourself, my dear. My heart bleeds to see you where you stand to-day, and if you got into any other trouble—you don't understand that you're a woman a man might do bad as well as good things for."
Emotion was strong in his voice; Winnie lightly attributed it to his nationality.
"Don't fret about me. I've got to pay for my blunders, and, if I've any sense at all, I shall be wiser in future."
"If ye're ever inclined to another man, for God's sake try him, test him, prove him. Ye can't afford another mistake, Winnie. It'd kill you, wouldn't it?"
"I shouldn't—like it," she answered slowly. "Yes, I shall be cautious, Dick. And it would take a good deal to make me what you call 'inclined to' any man just yet." She broke into a laugh. "But it's your domestic prospects that we were discussing this afternoon!"
"I have none," he answered shortly, almost sourly.
"Oh, you've only just begun to think of it," she laughed. "Don't despair of finding somebody worthy some day!"
They had just reached the station—nearly a quarter of an hour ahead of their time. Dennehy was going back to sleep at the Aikenheads', but he sat down with her in the waiting-room under a glaring gas lamp, to wait for the train. Seen in the light, Dennehy's face looked sad and troubled. Winnie was struck by his expression.
"Dick," she said gently, "I hope we haven't been chaffing you when—when there's something serious?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "No, no, ye couldn't call it serious."