"Sure if he's faultless, isn't that fault enough, my dear?"
"But you are almost rude to him," Belle Delorme says plaintively; "and
I'm sure I can't see why, for he is just a delightful man."
"Of course—you've fallen in love with him, Belle!" Honor retorts coolly. "You fall in love with every good-looking man you meet. The only marvel to me is how easily you contrive to fall out again."
"Sure it's as aisy as lapping crame," the girl says with a little affected brogue and a smile that shows all her dimples. "It would never do if we were all marble goddesses, you know. Life would be mighty dull if one couldn't flirt a trifle."
"Certainly your life should not be dull, if flirting can brighten it, my dear."
"No, it is not altogether dull," the other girl says demurely; "but it would be nicer if one could live in Dublin or London—wouldn't it now?"
She looks very pretty as she lies there, her slim lissom form stretched out in the full glare of the sunshine.
"What an artfully artless little creature you are, Belle! You mean to imply that, if Brian asks you to be Mrs. Beresford, you will say 'Yes,' for the pleasure of living in London?"
"And why not? Sure London is better than Donaghmore."
"And what is to become of poor Launce then?"