Caragh looked at him doubtfully.
"I suppose it's not," he said.
"I mean as a reason for having kept her waiting," Vernon continued.
"Must think of something else," soliloquized the other dolefully.
Vernon laughed.
"There's always that happy alternative for a Celt. Oh, by the way," he cried, with sudden remembrance, "how's the lady?"
"Which lady?" Caragh enquired.
"The lady you're going to marry in that green isle of yours. We heard of her from Miss Persse, who'd been staying over there, at Bally—something or other."
"Miss Nevern?" Caragh suggested absently, looking across the river; he was not a man very easy to surprise.
"That's the name!" said Vernon. "When does it come off?"