"Yes, that is brave," said Nessa, looking up.
Her uncle's words made Mr. Plunkett's character appear to her in a new light, but they gave her an unpleasant creeping sensation. She was beginning to think that Ireland was a very unsafe place to live in.
"Well," said her uncle, as they rose to leave the dining-room, "are you convinced now of Plunkett's excellent qualities?"
"Yes," replied Nessa, "but—"
"But what?"
"I do not think I could like him; he is not kind."
"Ah, you true woman!" replied Mr. Blair. "You won't acknowledge yourself beaten; but ask his little daughter Marion if he is not kind."
Instead of going to the drawing-room Nessa went straight to the schoolroom, but she found it empty. Soon the door of the schoolroom slowly opened, and Winnie entered singing, followed by Murtagh, who was playing the violin and singing too.
They did not see Nessa, who had withdrawn into the shadow of the curtain, but stood still together in a broad strip of moonlight near the table singing as though their whole souls were in a song. Winnie's head was thrown back, her face looked white, her eyes unnaturally large and dark in the strange light. Murtagh had bent his head to one side over the violin, and his face was in shadow.
Nessa stood entranced, watching the weird little figures. But as their voices rose to a strange sweet wail that formed the refrain, Murtagh's hand slipped. A sudden shriek of wrong notes was the result; both the children stopped singing, and he impatiently flung the violin on the table, exclaiming, "That's always the way when I'm just getting it best."