. "There's no deceiving her."

"But why submit?" was our natural argument. "Why not say you are going
to smoke, and do it?"

"It's her theory, me boy," explained the O'Kelly, "that the home should
be kept pure--a sort of a temple, ye know. She's convinced that in time
it is bound to exercise an influence upon me. It's a beautiful idea,
when ye come to think of it."

Meanwhile, in the rooms of half-a-dozen sinful men the O'Kelly kept his
own particular pipe, together with his own particular smoking mixture;
and one such pipe and one such tobacco jar stood always on our
mantelpiece.

In the spring the forces of temptation raged round that feeble but most
excellently intentioned citadel, the O'Kelly's conscience. The Signora
had returned to England, was performing then at Ashley's Theatre. The
O'Kelly would remain under long spells of silence, puffing vigorously
at his pipe. Or would fortify himself with paeans in praise of Mrs.
O'Kelly.

"If anything could ever make a model man of me"--he spoke in the tones
of one whose doubts are stronger than his hopes--"it would be the
example of that woman."

It was one Saturday afternoon. I had just returned from the matinee.

"I don't believe," continued the O'Kelly, "I don't really believe she
has ever done one single thing she oughtn't to, or left undone one
single thing she ought, in the whole course of her life."

"Maybe she has, and you don't know of it," I suggested, perceiving the
idea might comfort him.

"I wish I could think so," returned the O'Kelly. "I don't mean anything
really wrong," he corrected himself quickly, "but something just a
little wrong. I feel--I really feel I should like her better if she
had."

"Not that I mean I don't like her as it is, ye understand," corrected
himself the O'Kelly a second time. "I respect that woman--I cannot tell
ye, me boy, how much I respect her. Ye don't know her. There was one
morning, about a month ago. That woman-she's down at six every morning,
summer and winter; we have prayers at half-past. I was a trifle late
meself: it was never me strong point, as ye know, early rising. Seven
o'clock struck; she didn't appear, and I thought she had overslept
herself. I won't say I didn't feel pleased for the moment; it was an
unworthy sentiment, but I almost wished she had. I ran up to her room.
The door was open, the bedclothes folded down as she always leaves them.
She came in five minutes later. She had got up at four that