"Yes," I said, "I can't eat."
She suggested Doctor Nolan again.
"No, I'm afraid a doctor could do no good until I've got something off my mind."
"Will I sind for a priest, thin?" she asked.
"At present, Biddy, it's not a matter for a priest, but if you knew of some good woman, not a nun, but still in the world—" I paused from sheer inability to go on; I was so unused to this kind of thing that any sign of suspicion on Biddy's part would have meant disaster. But Biddy had a kind heart, and instantly scented a romance.
"Ah," she said, "I see how it is wid ye."
I said nothing, but lay still, watching her face. I tried once or twice to mention Miss O'Callaghan's name, but my lips refused to approach it without a weakness that might have betrayed me. And then, all at once, Biddy did it for me.
"I might ast Miss O'Callaghan to see ye," she said.
My face burned. "And who's Miss O'Callaghan?" I asked.
"A dear, dear heart," said Biddy, "an' just the lady to help ye if it's love you're throubled about. She's had throuble herself," she added, "an' may his lordship be made to pay for it!"