"You must forgive me," she murmured. "We Irish take things too much to heart. It—it brought my own engagement back to me—and of course my poor Laurence's death. I hope indeed that it will be a very long time before Clodagh——"
But the words were broken by a clatter from the other side of the table, as young Laurence Asshlin opportunely knocked one wine-glass against another. And in the moment of interruption, Clodagh pushed back her chair and stood up.
"If you don't mind, Aunt Fan," she said, "I think I'll go to bed. The—the ride has tired me. Good-night!" And without a glance at any one, she walked out of the room.
But she had scarcely crossed the hall, when a step behind her caused her to pause; and, looking back, she saw the figure of her cousin, a pace or two in the rear.
In the half light of the place, the two confronted each other; and Clodagh lifted her head in a movement that was common to them both.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Asshlin stepped forward.
"'Tisn't true, Clo?" he asked breathlessly.
Clodagh looked at him defiantly and nodded.
"Yes," she said. "'Tis true."