says Mrs. Bohun, languidly. "You know
if you did meet one he would bore you to death. The orthodox good man,
the oppressive being we read about, but never see, is unknown to me or
you, for which I, at least, am devoutly grateful."

"To return to old Browne," says Ulic: "he wasn't good, if you like. He
was a horrid ill-tempered, common old fellow, thoroughly without
education of any kind."

"He went through college, however, as he was fond of boasting whenever
he got the chance."

"And when he didn't get it he made it."

"In at one door and out at the other, that's how he went through
Trinity," says Mr. Kelly. "Oh, how I hated that dear old man, and _how_
he hated me!"

"You admit, then, the possibility of your being hated?" says Mrs.
Herrick.

"I have admitted that ever since--I met--_you_! But old Browne bore me a
special grudge."

"And your sin against him?"

"I never fathomed it. 'The atrocious crime of being a young man,'
principally, I think. Once, I certainly locked him up in his own
wine-cellar, and left him there for six hours, under the pretence that I
believed him to be a burglar, but nothing more. He quite disliked being
locked in the cellar, I think. It was very dark, I must admit. But I'm
not afraid of the dark."

"That's a good thing," says Madam O'Connor, entering, "because it will
soon envelop you. Did any one ever see so dark an evening for the time
of year? Well, I do think that fire looks cheerful, though it _is_ warm.
Has Mary Browne come down yet?"

"No. Come here, Madam; here's a cosey seat I have been keeping sacred
for you for the past hour. Why have you denied us the light of your
countenance all this weary time?"

"Get out with you now, and your fine compliments to an old woman!" says
Madam, laughing. "If I were _your_ sweetheart, Owen, I'd never believe a
word out of your lips."

Mrs. Herrick, laying down her knitting, raises her head, and looks full
into Kelly's eyes. As she does so, a smile, lovely as it is unexpected,
warms all her statuesque face into perfect beauty.

"And this to me!" says Kelly, addressing his hostess, and pretending to
be blind to Mrs. Herrick's glance. "All the afternoon I have been
treated by your sex with the most consummate cruelty. With their tongues
they have been stabbing me as with so many knives. But yours is the
unkindest cut of all. It is, in fact, the--er--carving-knife!"

"Oh! here's the tea," says Olga, in a pleased tone. "Madam, _pleas