"She stays in the studio too much," put in Harry, uneasily.
"A good jumper and a few stone walls of County Galway would set ye right in a jiffy. We'll be taking ye there, one day soon, I'm thinking, if ye don't come to life. What is it, child?"
"Oh—nothing—I'm just tired."
He took his glass and held it to the light with a critical air.
"Maybe it's better if ye go to bed then. I'll just clean up a bit and then come back and have a talk with you, Harry boy."
And finishing his glass, he took up his bag and went into his room to cleanse himself, leaving Moira alone with Harry. She was very uncomfortable, and sat wondering what ruse she could find to get rid of them.
Harry fumbled at his glass nervously.
"You're going to tell him?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Of course," she said coolly, "the farce has gone on long enough."
"Yes," he muttered. "Perhaps you're right. I'll tell him—myself—to-night."