or those of limited vocabulary, affixed to Miss
Coppinger the ancient label: "A typical old maid," and considered that
no further definition was required; and, since her appearance
conformed in some degree with stage traditions, there is something to
be said for them. If labels are to be employed, even the least complex
of human beings would suggest a much-travelled portmanteau, covered
with tags and shreds from hotels and railways. Frederica shall not be
labelled; let it suffice to say that she was tall and thin, and nearer
fifty than forty (which was a far greater age thirty years ago than it
is now), and that she had a sense of fair play that was proof against
her zeal as an Irish Church-woman. It is true that she mentioned what
she regarded as the disaster of Larry's religion in her prayers, but
she did so without heat, leaving the matter, without irreverence, to
the common sense of Larry's Creator, who, she felt must surely
recognise the disadvantages of the position as it stood.

"I cannot possibly interfere with Larry's religion," pursued Miss
Coppinger, with a defiant eye on her cousin, "and as soon as we are a
little more settled down I shall ask the priest to lunch. Farther than
that I don't feel called upon to go."

"Draw the line at dinner, eh?" said Major Dick, with large and
humorous tolerance: "_I_ know very little about the feller--he's
newly come to the parish--he mayn't be a bad sort for all I know--I'm
bound to say he's got a black-muzzled look about him, but we might go
farther and fare worse. I should certainly have him to lunch if I were
you. Have a good big joint of roast beef, and don't forget to give him
his whack of whisky!"

"I never have whisky in the house," said Miss Coppinger repressively.
"Claret, I _could_ give him--?"

Major Talbot-Lowry looked down at his cousin with the condescending
amusement that he felt to be the meed of female godliness especially
when allied with temperance principles.

"Well, claret might do for once in a way," he conceded, shaking his
long legs to take the creases out of his trousers, "and you mightn't
find Father Sweeny so anxious to repeat the dose--and that mightn't be
any harm either! I daresay you wouldn't object to that, Frederica!
Well, good-bye, ladies! I'm going down to the kennels--"

Lady Isabel's and Miss Coppinger's eyes followed him, as he swung,
with that light halt in his leisurely stride, down the long
drawing-room, trolling in the high