"Not so good," he admitted. "I 've been here a week, and the only friends I 've made are cab-drivers. Also, I have a bowing acquaintance with a head waiter."
"Cab-drivers are good fun," she ruminated.
They were at the station now.
"Look here," she said suddenly as she was leaving: "if you are having a rotten time like that in Dublin, and know nobody, it must be lonely! I wonder—" She looked at him fearlessly. "Look here: if you 'd care to, come out and see me at Mount Kyteler—my name 's Kyteler. There are dogs and horses and an old house you might like to see."
"May I? Thanks. My name's O'Conor. I 'll come, then, Miss Kyteler."
"Lady Margery Kyteler."
"Do I call you all that? Lady Margery Kyteler?"
"No. Just Lady Margery."
"Lady Margery! That's nice."
When he came, he came with a great armful of flowers, which Margery received with a smile and courtesy, and turned over to Rose Ann. He seemed scrubbed, so glistening was he. How like an old friend he was, with his firm handshake and laughing eyes.