‘Mr. Desmond has left the Castle,’ said Lady Dulcie. ‘He has had a misunderstanding with his lordship. Follow him, and tell him not to leave the village till he sees me. Quick!’
‘Sure, there’s no hurry,’ said Rosie coolly.
‘But there is!’ cried Dulcie. ‘The poor boy has quarrelled with Lord Kilpatrick, and vows that he will never come back.’
‘He’ll not lave the place without sayin’ farewell to the boys at Widdy Daly’s,’ said Rosie. ‘There’s a grand dance there to-night, and the whole counthryside will be there. I’ll just go to the shebeen, and tell the widdy and the boys to kape on the watch for ‘m, and lave word that I have a message for him from your ladyship.’
Rosie’s instinct had not deceived her, for that night Desmond was found sitting in the kitchen of the rude hostelry kept by the Widow Daly, listening to the strains of Patsey Doolan’s fiddle, and sombrely watching the dance of boys and colleens, in which, for the first time during their long experience of him, he had declined to take part. Rosie delivered her message. Desmond heard it with a half-averted face, which did not hide from the girl’s keen eyes a flush of pleasure on his cheek. He pressed her hand gratefully, but shook his head with a sad smile.
‘’Tis like her, Rosie—’tis like her. But that’s all over now. What can she have to say to a poor devil like me? She’s up there with the reigning government of angels, and I’m down here with the opposition. Well, never mind! The world’s wide, and there’s room in it somewhere for us all. Don’t stand staring at me there, Rosie, as if I was a show in a fair. There’s Larry dying to shake the rheumatism out of his legs. Play up, Patsey, you rogue, and put the music into their heels!’
‘Ye’ll dance yourself, Mr. Desmond?’ said Rosie. ‘I’d be proud to stand out on the floor wid ye.’
‘And, sure,’ said Larry, ‘I wouldn’t be jealous if ye did!’
‘No, no,’ said Desmond. ‘Go and enjoy yourselves, and leave me to myself. Play up, play up!’ he shouted wildly, ‘and the devil take the hindmost!’
Rosie and Larry left him with pitying glances. The dance proceeded, the Squireen sitting apart and looking on with haggard eyes at the mirth he had so often shared.