"Gheena, you did not come on anything to-day?" Mrs. Weston put an arm round Gheena, bent down to speak to her, kissing the soft cheek.
"Only a severe chill," said Gheena, growing red.
Basil Stafford slipped away. He looked worn out, his eyes haggard, as though from lack of sleep. With another heavy sigh Gheena Freyne peered seawards.
In the drawing-room, Darby and Psyche left alone, drew near to the fire.
"When you are married——" began Psyche.
"When!" said Darby. "Does it strike you, sprite, that I should marry a girl who scarcely thinks of me, and that it would take a great deal of love to make anyone forget my leg and my scars?"
Psyche replied very sharply that she did not think so at all, and poked the fire until it collapsed in ruins.
"Didn't I tell Mrs. Malone to co*nn*fine them?" rose Phil's voice outside. "Thim haythin Germans of Faverolly's, an' into the spring beds agin with them. I'll hunt thim, Ma'am." Further yells and shoos from Phil, with some comments added to the effect that thim beds wasn't Mongs or Pars, and advice to make in for thimselves before Crabbit turned them into sossidges.
Psyche went to the window.
"Crabbit has removed several tails," she said, "and there is no place like Ireland. I never want to live out of it."