“Our meeting—and parting,” she added quickly.
“Why parting?”
“Because you are going to America, and I am going to France. Yes”—in answer to his look—“as soon as my father returns, next week, I believe. You know, I’m half French and half English.”
“Yes, and half-hearted.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you don’t seem happy.”
“That’s true. Ye see how it is; I’m neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. Too fine for the folks in Ireland, and not up to the mark over here. I was twenty-one years too long in a cottage. I will never be a lady.”
“Would you like to return to the Corner, and be Mary Foley?”
“Oh no, I could never go back to that,” she answered with emphasis. “There is my father, who is more than good to me; and Tito too. But I’m not denying, that I don’t care very much for the crowd in the house.”
“I daresay not. I know the set; you are a bit out of it?”