er angry with a pretty woman like you," says Desmond,
saucily.

"Oh, now, hark to him!" says Mrs. Daly laughing heartily. "I wonder ye
aren't ashamed of yourself. An' is the ould Squire hearty?"

"He's as well as even _you_ could wish him. How d'ye do, Kit? Won't you
come and speak to me?"

He has been afraid to shake hands with Monica up to this, but now she
turns suddenly towards him and holds out to him one slender fair hand,
the other being twined round the baby. She does this musingly.

He grasps the little snowy hand with almost senile delight, and holds it
for--as long as he dares. During this undefined period he tells himself
what a perfect picture she is, with her clear, pale, beautiful face, and
her nut-brown hair, and the tender sweetness of her attitude, as she
bends over the smiling baby. Could any vaunted Madonna be half as
lovely? At this moment a growing contempt for all the greatest
masterpieces of the greatest masters permeates his being and renders him
weak in faith.

"Won't ye sit down, thin?" says Mrs. Daly. Being a woman, she grasps the
situation at a glance, and places a chair for him close to Monica.
"What's the matther wid ye to-day, Misther Desmond, that ye haven't a
word to give us?"

"You ought to know what I'm thinking of," says Desmond, accepting the
chair, and drawing it even a degree closer to Monica.

"Faix, thin, I don't," says Mrs. Daly junior, her handsome face full of
smiles. A love-affair is as good as a saint's day to an Irish peasant;
and here she tells herself, with a glance at Monica, is one ready-made
to her hand.

"I'm thinking what a lucky man Daly is," says Desmond, promptly.

"Oh, git along wid ye now, an' yer blarney!" says Mrs. Daly, roaring
with laughter; whilst even Mrs. Moloney the dismal, and the old granny
in the corner, chime in merrily.

And then the visit comes to a close, and they all rise and bid Mrs. Daly
and the others "good-by;" and Monica, mindful of his late affliction,
bestows a soft parting word upon the subdued Paddy.

And now they are all in the open air again, and, turning down the boreen
that leads to the Daly's homestead, reach the road that leads to Moyne.
It is Desmond's way as well as theirs, so he accompanies the girls
without remark.

"What brought you to see the Dalys, to-day?" asks Monica, suddenly,
without any ulterior meaning beyond the desire of making conversation;
but to Kit's guilty soul this question seems fraught with mi