The Desmond was gently going off into the land of dreams and Madam was motioning to Till to leave the room, but Till's chance had come and she would not lose it.
"I want to speak," she said. "I want to speak to The Desmond. I won't keep him long. He can grant my request and then nothing need be done, or he can refuse it and then, behold, consider the fruit trees of all sorts, the strawberry beds, the raspberry canes, the roses!"
"Who is talking, who is bothering me entirely?" exclaimed The Desmond.
"I don't want to bother you, sir," said Tilly, although she had such a queer trembling in her limbs that she never exactly knew the meaning of gooseflesh before.
"Oh you are Till Raynes," said the old man. "I couldn't get at the back of your name for a minute. What do ye want, alanna? I'm sleepy and I want to doze. I want to doze while my pushkeen is out."
"Oh, do you indeed?" said Tilly, who, as is often the case, got less nervous as the time went on.
The old man raised his jet-black eyes and looked at the girl.
"What do ye want, young English miss?" he said. He looked very severe and very stately.
Tilly's voice began to choke a little.
"You are The Desmond," she said.