"Her father might not think it much of a compliment."
The coachman, closing the door of the carriage mounted his box and took the reins, while the pretty girl took her father's arm and came down the street passing the young men, who, we fear, stared at her rudely. They were hardly to be blamed for it, for she was as near perfection as a girl of sixteen can be. Tall, willowy form, with deep blue eyes, soft as a gazelle's, long, silken lashes and arched eyebrows, with golden hair, and so graceful that every movement might be set to music.
Fernando gazed after her until she disappeared into a fashionable shop, and then, uttering a sigh, started as if from a dream.
"What do you say now, old fellow?" asked Sukey.
"Let us go home."
"Home?"
"Well, back to the widow Mahone's inn."
"All right; now let us try to find the trail."
It was no easy matter, although they had the street and number well fixed in their mind. Finally they asked a watchman (policemen were called watchmen in those days) and he conducted them to the abode of Mrs. Mahone.
The first person to greet them was Terrence. There was a bright smile on his jolly face as he cried: