"On the contrary," he said, quietly, "she loves another."
"And you are hoping—" The Countess hesitated.
"
Not hoping," Dermott answered, "determined."
"How old is she?"
"Nearly nineteen, and Irish."
"Irish girls are hard to change."
"But you loved your second husband, did you not?" Dermott inquired.
"I hope I was a good wife," the Countess answered, evasively, adding, "But you remember our own Tom Moore!"
"'The wild freshness of morning—'?"