een pushing her small soft way into Mary O'Gara's heart.
She knew now that Eileen could never have been the little daughter she
wanted.

"You think she would mind that?" His eyes leaped at her.

She felt like one who had burnt her boats. She would not look before
or behind. Shawn was wrong, she said vehemently to herself. Eileen
was not the girl for Terry.

"I will tell you a secret, Terry," she said. "The first evening you
came back, in the drawing-room before dinner, there was something that
might have passed for a love-scene between you and Eileen. Your father
opened the door and withdrew. Then he discovered that Stella had come
downstairs before him and was playing with the dogs in the hall by the
dying fire. He supposed that she had surprised that scene before he
did."

Oh, poor Shawn! What a use she was making of his confidence! But men
never knew about their sons as mothers did. She would give anything,
except her own soul, to procure Terry the joy he desired. And it was a
good joy. She loved Stella. Of course, she would be very good to
Eileen, but she did not want Eileen for a daughter-in-law. Shawn did
not look very deeply. He had hardly considered Eileen except as
something pretty and gentle, who was pleasant in the house and sang him
Moore's Melodies of evenings in a small sweet voice. He missed her
when she returned to her own people.

"I was an idiot for a second," the boy said, shamefacedly. "I don't
suppose you understand, Mother, but men are like that. Eileen can be
very alluring when she likes and..."

"Don't tell me any more. I can imagine," Lady O'Gara said and laughed,
a laugh which had a certain shyness in it.

"Then we fell out over the cat and dog," he said. "Eileen was rather
rude. Perhaps I was a little rough with Cleopatra, but she had
scratched Shot's nose. You know what Shot is! It was an entirely
unprovoked attack. I believe I did say that Cleopatra should be sent
to the Cats' Home."

Eileen appeared at this point, coming with an unwilling air. It was
true that her staying within-doors so much had not improved her looks.
She had not a very good circulation at any time. That, or her mood,
had given her rose and white a dull, leaden look. Her discontented
little face was lifted towards the dappled sky. It was really a
beautiful day of Autumn. There was a little wind, and the last yellow
leaves on the branches tinkled like so many small golden cymbals. A