Paddy blushed again, which was most becoming to her, and Basil could not help looking candidly surprised, though he forbore from any more personalities at present. The individual introduced as Captain O’Connor was sitting next to Paddy, and she was rather glad, as “lady-killers” were not in her line, and she liked the look of this sunburnt soldier. She commenced chatting to him at once in her pleasant, friendly way, and Captain O’Connor was more than pleased. With the delightful humility of his nation, his first thought was—“Any one would have known she’s Irish, she’s so nice.”
Presently the topic of India was introduced, that of their respective Irish counties and the general perfection of the Emerald Isle becoming a little exhausted, and the Captain told her about the gayeties of the hill stations, and of Calcutta during the season.
“I stayed two or three weeks in Calcutta,” he told her, “on my way home, as I knew I should have quite as good a time there as in England.” He suddenly became thoughtful, as if struck by some memory, and with equal suddenness turned upon her with the startling remark:
“By the way, Lawrence Blake comes from near Omeath. Do you know him?”
Paddy was so taken aback, she caught her breath with a little gasp before she answered.
“Yes, very well indeed.”
“How odd,” said the Captain and paused.
“Why?” eyeing him keenly.
He coloured under his sunburn.
“Oh, nothing,” and then after a moment—as if changing his mind—“He’s engaged to a great friend of mine.”