d said
something that made them shout with laughter. But it was not so loud but
that the wind carried her his reply:

"She's not _my_ ugly duckling. She's a wicked little leprechaun, born
under a mushroom, on a black night, but she swims like a fish, and
dances like a pixie. I tell ye she's not human at all at all!"

She heard their laughter, and her eyes smarted. What a fool he had made
of her! How she despised herself. There was only one way to square it,
to get back her self-respect. She would find out what a leprechaun
meant, and she would bedevil the honourable Captain O'Leary, like the
pixie that he named her!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Bright-coloured days followed, like beads slipping along a thread.
Isabelle did not formulate any plan of bedevilment for the Captain, but
she watched for opportunities with lynx-eyed attention.

She and Agnes were very intimate, and while Isabelle was not given to
confidences, she allowed her friend to see that there was something
between her and the handsome O'Leary--a sort of flirtatious feud. Agnes
adored him from afar, and envied the other girl her power to attract
him. She did not understand just what Isabelle wanted of him, but she
stood ready to help her get it.

Early in their friendship Agnes had fired Isabelle with a new zeal. She
told her about the wonderful patriotic work to be done by writing
letters to soldiers, who had no relatives, and to keep them cheered up.
She, Agnes, had become _marraine_ to half a dozen Frenchmen; she
considered them more exciting than plain English "Tommies" or American
"Sammies." Besides, it was good practice for your French. You made them
presents, sent cigarettes and candy, and they sent you back the most
thrilling letters.

Agnes displayed some of hers, in confidence, and at once Isabelle felt
the call of duty to rescue a French soldier. She could not wait to go
through with the formality of applying to the organization in charge of
this work, for names of the letter-needy; instead, she borrowed two from
Agnes. She chose the two who wrote the most picturesque letters and
"adopted" them at once.

Together they worked out her first letters, telling the gentlemen in
question of the transfer of god-mothers. After much consideration she
adopted the tone of maternal concern for their comfort and welfare, with
a cheerful optimism intended to be elderly.

"Jean" and "Edouard" were told of life in Bermuda;