"I don't know," replied Miss Grimshaw. "Don't be gloomy. Ah!"
The door opened, and Mr. French entered the room—a gentleman that Bobby Dashwood had never seen in his life before.
CHAPTER VI
The master of Drumgool, genial and cosey, and the very personification of welcome, had scarcely taken in with a glance the two pleasant-looking young people who had invaded his drawing-room when the explainer of situations rushed into the breach.
"I'm awfully sorry," said he, "but I've made a mistake. I met this young lady at the inn at Cloyne, and as she was coming here I came on the same car, for I thought you were a Mr. Michael French I'd met in London. I've been fishing down here."
"You expected me last night," said Miss Grimshaw. "My name is Grimshaw."
"Faith," said Mr. French, "this is a pleasant surprise. Sit down, sit down."
"I ought to say my name is Dashwood," put in the explainer.