“About what?”
“Why, about you, of course. I shall ask him to give you to me.”
“Yes; but not for a good while—I am so awkward, and ignorant, I’d shame ye.”
“No, never. I shall always be proud of you!”
“An’ ye may think it strange, but he is real fond of me.”
“Not as fond of you as I am, Mary”; and he slipped his arm round her waist, and kissed her—this time without the intervening pane of glass.
Five minutes later, and the door was pushed open, and Lord Mulgrave entered, in the act of taking off his muffler.
He started when he saw Major Doran and Joseline standing together by the fire; and, unless he was losing his wits, the fellow’s arm was round her waist. In a flash he recalled a whispered secret one dim evening in the “Shelbourne”—the real gentleman, who was Irish, and had given Mrs. Foley a dog.
Here they were, the very trio—the red terrier, the lover, and the girl.