Mrs. O'Reilly sank again to her chair.
Her mouth was partly open. She breathed with difficulty. Her eyes were fixed on space, and she seemed to be communing with the guardians of Chaos—
"Married!" said she in a musing whisper. "Christie!" said she. She turned to her husband—"What an amazing thing. Doesn't it make you think, O'Reilly, of the poem, 'The World Recedes, it Disappears'?"
"It does not, ma'm," said her husband savagely.
"And what is this young gentleman going to do?" she continued, gazing tearfully at the suitor.
"He's going to go home," replied her husband fiercely. "He ought to be in bed long ago."
"A broken heart," said his wife, "is a sad companion to go home with.
Doesn't it make you think of the song——?"
"It does not, ma'm," roared her husband. "I'm going back to my work," and once again the door banged and the room shook.
Young Mr. O'Grady arose timidly. The world was swimming about him. Love had deserted him, and etiquette was now his sole anchor; he shook hands with Mrs. O'Reilly—
"I think I had better be going now," said he. "Good-bye, Mrs.
O'Reilly."