"How do I know that it's Miss Clodagh that's botherin' you? Sure, how do I know that you're standin' before me? Faith, by the use of me eyesight! Haven't I seen you lookin' at her and ponderin'—and lookin' at her agin?"
Milbanke's lips tightened, and he drew himself up.
"I should be sorry if any thought I have bestowed on your young mistress——" he began coldly; then suddenly the intense need of help and sympathetic counsel over-balanced dignity. "Hannah," he said abruptly, "I'm in a terribly awkward position, and that is the simple truth. My mind is quite at rest about the younger girl. She is a child—and will be a child for years. A good school is all she needs. But with the other it's different—with Clodagh it's different. Clodagh is no longer a child."
Hannah remained discreetly silent.
"If I had a sister," he went on, "or any friend to whom I could entrust her. But I have none."
Again Hannah shook her head.
"Why, thin, that's a pity!" she murmured. "Sure, 'tis lonesome for a gintleman to be by himself."
"It is a pity—a great pity. You do not know how it is weighing upon me. Of course, there is her aunt——"
Hannah made an exclamation of horror.
"Is it Mrs. Laurence?" she cried. "Is it tie her to Mrs. Laurence you would? Sure, you may as well put her in the grave and be done wid it."