ca,
laughingly, "I don't know what would have been the result."

"The deluge, I suppose," returns her companion thoughtfully.

"What a pity you have an uncle at all!" says Monica, presently. "It
would be all right only for him." She omits to say _what_ would be all
right, but the translation is simple.

"Oh, don't say that," entreats Desmond, who has a wholesome affection
for the old gentleman above at Coole. "He is the kindest old fellow in
the world. I think, if you knew him, you would be very fond of him; and
I know he would adore _you_. In fact, he is so kind-hearted that I
cannot think how all that unfortunate story about your mother ever came
about. He looks to me as if he couldn't say 'Bo to a goose' where a
woman was concerned and yet his manner to-night confirmed everything I
heard."

"He confessed?" in a deeply interested tone.

"Well just the same thing. He seemed distressed about his own conduct in
the affair, too. But his manner was odd, I thought: and he seems as much
at daggers drawn with your aunts as they with him."

"That is because he is ashamed of himself. One is always hardest on
those one has injured."

"But that is just it," says Mr. Desmond, in a puzzled tone. "I don't
believe, honestly, he is a bit ashamed of himself. He _said_ a good deal
about his regret, but I could see he quite gloried in his crime. And, in
fact, I couldn't discover the smallest trace of remorse about him."

"He must really be a very bad old man," says Monica, severely. "I am
perfectly certain if he were _my_ uncle I should not love him at all."

"Don't say that. When he _is_ your uncle you will see that I am right,
and that he is a very lovable old man, in spite of all his faults."

At this Monica blushes a little, and twirls her rings round her slender
fingers in an excess of shyness, and finally, in spite of a stern
pressure laid upon herself, gives way to mirth.

"What are you laughing at now?" asks he laughing too.

"At you," casting a swift but charming glance at him from under her long
lashes. "You _do_ say such funny things!"

"Did you hear there is to be an afternoon dance at the Barracks next
week?" asks he presently. "I was at Clonbree on Thursday, and Cobbett
told me about it."

"Who is Cobbett?"

"The captain there, you know. He was at Aghyohillbeg yesterday. Didn't
you see him,--a little, half-starved looking man, with a skin the color
of his hair, and both gray?"

"Oh, of course--now I reme