atsey. Walk that mare up and down here, between this
gate and that post, till the big sweat has all dried on her; and then
stick to her with a whisp of straw till she's as soft as silk. Do you
hear?"

Patsey said that he did hear; and then Owen, throwing his arm over
the earl's shoulder, walked slowly towards the house.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, old boy," said Owen,
pressing his young friend with something almost like an embrace. "You
will hardly believe how long it is since I have seen a face that I
cared to look at."

"Haven't you?" said the young lord, wondering. He knew that
Fitzgerald had now become heir to a very large fortune, or rather the
possessor of that fortune, and he could not understand why a man who
had been so popular while he was poor should be deserted now that he
was rich.

"No, indeed, have I not. Things are all at sixes and sevens as you
say. Let me see. Donnellan was here when you last saw me; and I was
soon tired of him when things became serious."

"I don't wonder you were tired of him."

"But, Desmond, how's your mother?"

"Oh, she's very well. These are bad times for poor people like us,
you know."

"And your sister?"

"She's pretty well too, thank you." And then there was a pause.
"You've had a great change in your fortune since I saw you, have you
not?" said the earl, after a minute or two. And there it occurred to
him for the first time, that, having refused his sister to this man
when he was poor, he had now come to offer her to him when he was
rich. "Not that that was the reason," he said to himself. "But it was
impossible then, and now it would be so pleasant."

"It is a sad history, is it not?" said Owen.

"Very sad," said the earl, remembering, however, that he had ridden
over there with his heart full of joy,--of joy occasioned by that
very catastrophe which now, following his friend's words like a
parrot, he declared to be so very sad.

And now they were in the dining-room in which Owen usually lived, and
were both standing on the rug, as two men always do stand when they
first get into a room together. And it was clear to see that neither
of them knew how to break at once into the sort of loving, genial
talk which each was longing to have with the other. It is so easy to
speak when one has little or nothing to say; but often so difficult
when there is much that must be said: and the same paradox is equally
true of writing.

Then Owen walked away