"Please forgive my coming in like this," Lady O'Gara said. "I was knocking for some time, but you did not hear me. My husband, Sir Shawn O'Gara, has told me about his tenant, and I thought I would like to come and see you."
"Thank you very much, Lady O'Gara. I am sorry you had to wait at the door. Won't you sit down?"
"May I sit here? I don't like facing the light. My eyes are not over-strong."
"Dear me. They look so beautiful too."
The naïve compliment seemed to ease the strain in the situation. Lady O'Gara laughed. She had sometimes said that she laughed when she felt like to die with trouble. People had taken it for an exaggerated statement. What cause could Mary O'Gara have to feel like dying with trouble? Even though Shawn O'Gara was a melancholy gentleman, Mary seemed very well able to enjoy life.
"How kind of you!" she said merrily. "I might return the compliment.
What a pretty place you have made of this!"
"I brought a few little things with me. I knew nothing was to be bought here. And the things I found here already were good."
"It is a damp place down here under the trees. Now that you have made it so pretty it would be hard to leave it. Else I should suggest another cottage. There is a nice dry one on the upper road."
"Oh! I shouldn't think of leaving this," Mrs. Wade said, nervously. Still her colour kept coming and going. America had not yellowed her as it usually had the revenants. Her dark skin was smooth and richly coloured: her eyes soft and still brilliant. Only the greying of her hair told that she was well on towards middle age.
"But it is very lonely. You are not nervous?"