he asked, abruptly.

His manner of questioning her, indicating to her mind a desire to know
as to whom and of what she was writing, aroused an immediate resentment
in the girl.

"Yes, I am," she answered, shortly.

He smiled at her manifest annoyance, and continued to play with the
kitten.

"Fire away then and get it all off your chest," he said.

Kathleen felt that writing was an impossibility under the circumstances,
but she was determined that he should not recognise her embarrassment.
Her nib flew relentlessly over the sheets, but the letter was
disconnected and dry. At last she gathered her writing materials
together, and rose to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Never mind that," she replied. "I have never been asked to give an
account of my actions, and I do not intend to."

Denis Quirk smiled yet more broadly. It was evident that her irritation
amused him. This did not make her the better pleased.

"Sit down and talk to me," he suggested.

"I have other and better things to do," she answered.

He whistled the long-drawn note of surprise. His chair was across the
door, but he made no attempt to move it.

"Angry?" he asked.

"Will you please move your chair?" she replied.

"Why should I? I am quite comfortable. Just sit down for five minutes
and talk about the old people. I have any number of questions to ask
you," he said.

"You always have; but I have no time to answer them. Please move your
chair."

"Do you always have your own way?" he asked.

"Always--with gentlemen," she answered.

"Then you shall have it this once with Denis Quirk, who neither
professes nor has the slightest wish to be--a gentleman."

He rose and put his chair on one side.

"Thank you," she said, as he held the door open for her. But, while she
went up the stairs to Mrs. Quirk's room, the eternal question was
repeating itself to her: "What do you think of this man?"

She found old Mrs. Quirk in her room, arranging a series of photos.
There was Denis from infancy until the period when he had left his
home--ugly, but smiling from infancy to manhood.

"What do you think of Denis? Isn't he grown into a fine man, and as full
of fun as if he were a boy? And doesn't he love his old mother?" asked
the fond old mother.

"Why shouldn't he?" asked Kathleen. "I love her as if she were my own
mother."

"God bless you, child. I believe you do. Did you see what he has brought
me? Brooches and shawls! But