The dining room was furnished strictly for use and not for ornament. Heavy chairs and a heavier sideboard constituted all the furniture, save the table. The floor was covered with a cold linoleum. There was no flower in the room. Only one gas-burner was alight, and it left gloomy corners. There was a stiff look about it all, a poverty and bareness that was bewilderingly new to them. A beautiful little cocker spaniel, who pressed close to them with plaintive whimpers when they entered the room, looked quite out of place there. Miss Kezia eyed her with disfavour. She demanded, "Where will that dog sleep?"
The want of due respect in the designation roused Sheila Pat.
She said coldly, "Her name is Kate Kearney."
"What a ridiculous name!" Miss Kezia ejaculated.
The Atom was indignant.
"Is it rickelous? And how about Kezia, then?"
There was a pause.
Denis interposed amusedly: "Perhaps you don't know the song, Aunt Kezia? It's like this—" Gaily his voice sang out:—
"'Oh, did you not hear of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney—'
"Eh? Noise? Noise?" he murmured surprisedly. "Allow me just to whisper the lines that fit K.K. so beautifully:—