I got up wearily and produced what was required, and we drank solemnly to Norah O'Callaghan.
"That's better," said St. Alleyne. "Now Mrs. O'Callaghan has her heart set on Norah's going into a convent, and Norah, poor child, thinks she has a leaning towards the religious life, and that before she has seen any other life at all. When I heard of this folly I went over, but never a sight of the girl could I get except with her mother. The old woman never lets her outside the grounds, and there they walk up and down for an hour every day."
I was becoming seriously interested, and St. Alleyne saw it.
"Does Miss O'Callaghan know you care for her?" I asked.
"I suppose any girl knows," he said.
"Did you ever speak to her about it?"
"Not seriously," he said.
"Isn't it possible she thinks you were playing with her and may be playing still; and, granted she cares for you, mayn't that be driving her into the convent?"
His face was suddenly flushed with a kind of pitying shame.
"By Jove!" he said. "It may be so, Phil; I never meant to play with her, I swear that."