"You're in a hurry, aren't you?" observed Denis, mildly surprised.
"Er—yes." He turned his red face away, and strode on.
Nell went up to the Stronghold, smiling unwillingly. She felt as if she had known him for years, and she resented the feeling. She told herself that it was most annoying—his having come in just that morning when they were cleaning out the room; it was most unfortunate, for how could anyone be politely distant and dignified under such circumstances? And of course sweeping and laughing and having jokes made you feel as if you had known a person for quite a long while—even an objectionable person like this Ted Lancaster, who spent his time lounging about and doing nothing except visit his tailor. She was quite sure he visited his tailor a great deal. And he preferred a motor-car to horses! By the time she reached the Stronghold she was frowning.
"Sheila Pat, come and write your dictation."
"Nell," the Atom observed as she sat her down, "I'm very sorry for that poor boy."
"Why?"
"He's never been in Ireland, Nell!"
"Well, so haven't lots of other people."
"I don't mind about them, but I like that boy, and all these wicked men in Parlymint have—diseased his mind about Ireland! I have forgave all the nasty things he said because I'm so sorry for him, poor boy. And you see," patronisingly, "he doesn't know anythin' about it."
"He's not a bit good-looking," observed Molly irrelevantly; "he's got rather a big nose."