ught her back in triumph to Castle
Talbot, feeling that she could never do enough to make up to the child
for forsaking for her that long family, happy and happy-go-lucky.
Eileen had become conventional in her growing-up, not much like the
others, who frolicked like puppies and grew up pretty well at their own
sweet will.

"I told Mother she should not fill the house with visitors in addition
to her long family, if Dad had had a bad year," said Eileen, putting
off her furs in the hall. "She said that what people ate never
counted. Isn't it just like Mother? What a jolly fire, darling Cousin
Mary! And how sweet to see you again!"

She took up Lady O'Gara's hand and kissed it. She had done the same
thing that evening long ago when she had come for the first time to
Castle Talbot, and had snuggled against Lady O'Gara in the brougham,
warming her heart, which was chilly because in a very short time Terry
was to go off to his preparatory school for Eton. It was his father's
will and she had not grumbled, but she had often felt in her own heart
that she had had very little of Terry since he was eight years old.

"Come and eat something," she said, leading the girl into the
drawing-room, where the lamps had been lit and the tea-table drawn near
the fire. "I told Cook to send up an extra good tea, knowing you would
be cold and hungry after your journey."

"How delicious!" Miss Creagh said, lifting off one cover after another.
"I haven't had a decent tea since I went away. We are such a hungry
family, to say nothing of the visitors."

"Terry will be here in time for dinner," Lady O'Gara said, her eyes
joyful. "So put on your best bib-and-tucker. We don't get many
occasions to wear our finery. I shall wear my Limerick lace and
emeralds."

"And Terry won't see them because he will be thinking only of
yourself," Eileen said, devouring sandwiches and hot cakes. For a girl
of her slender delicacy she had a very good appetite and usually
indulged it, although there were moments when she tried to hold it in
check, having detected, as she said, a tendency to _embonpoint_.

"I can really afford to be greedy, Cousin Mary," she said, with a
laughing apology. "I've been _starved_ at Inver. How the _stacks_ of
food went! They have such healthy appetites. I _couldn't_ eat
potato-cakes, soaked in butter, nor doorsteps as the boys called them,
of bread and jam and honey. Fearfully fattening food."

"You remind me of w