e that my father, the
lawyers and the Bishop knew anything about it.

I determined to tell them, but how to do so, being what I was, a young
girl out of a convent, I did not know.

Never before had I felt so deeply the need of my mother. If she had been
alive I should have gone to her, and with my arms about her neck and my
face in her breast, I should have told her all my trouble.

There was nobody but Aunt Bridget, and little as I had ever expected to
go to her under any circumstances, with many misgivings and after much
hesitation I went.

It was the morning before the day of my marriage. I followed my aunt as
she passed through the house like a biting March wind, scolding
everybody, until I found her in her own room.

She was ironing her new white cap, and as I entered (looking pale, I
suppose) she flopped down her flat iron on to its stand and cried:

"Goodness me, girl, what's amiss? Caught a cold with your morning walks,
eh? Haven't I enough on my hands without that? We must send for the
doctor straight. We can't have _you_ laid up now, after all this trouble
and expense."

"It isn't that, Auntie."

"Then in the name of goodness what is it?"

I told her, as well as I could for the cold grey eyes that kept looking
at me through their gold-rimmed spectacles. At first my aunt listened
with amazement, and then she laughed outright.

"So _you've_ heard that story, have you? Mary O'Neill," she said, with a
thump of her flat iron, "I'm surprised at you."

I asked if she thought it wasn't true.

"How do I know if it's true? And what do I care whether it is or isn't?
Young men will be young men, I suppose."

She went on with her ironing as she added:

"Did you expect you were marrying a virgin? If every woman asked for
that there would be a nice lot of old maids in the world, wouldn't
there?"

I felt myself flushing up to the forehead, yet I managed to say:

"But if he is practically married to the other woman. . . ."

"Not he married. Whoever thinks about marriage in company like that? You
might as well talk about marriage in the hen coop."

"But all the same if he cares for her, Auntie. . . ."

"Who says he cares for her? And if he does he'll settle her off and get
rid of her before he marries you."

"But will that be right?" I said, whereupon my aunt rested her iron and
looked at me as if I had said something shameful.

"Mary O'Neill, what do you mean? Of course it will be right. He
shouldn't