is just a delightful man."

"Of course--you've fallen in love with him, Belle!" Honor retorts
coolly. "You fall in love with every good-looking man you meet. The
only marvel to me is how easily you contrive to fall out again."

"Sure it's as aisy as lapping crame," the girl says with a little
affected brogue and a smile that shows all her dimples. "It would never
do if we were all marble goddesses, you know. Life would be mighty dull
if one couldn't flirt a trifle."

"Certainly your life should not be dull, if flirting can brighten it,
my dear."

"No, it is not altogether dull," the other girl says demurely; "but it
would be nicer if one could live in Dublin or London--wouldn't it now?"

She looks very pretty as she lies there, her slim lissom form stretched
out in the full glare of the sunshine.

"What an artfully artless little creature you are, Belle! You mean to
imply that, if Brian asks you to be Mrs. Beresford, you will say 'Yes,'
for the pleasure of living in London?"

"And why not? Sure London is better than Donaghmore."

"And what is to become of poor Launce then?"

"Oh, Launce!" Belle says, turning pale. "You know quite well that he
has eyes for no one but Mrs. Dundas."

"My dear, Launce was not born yesterday," Launce's sister assures her
companion equably.

"Neither was Mrs. Dundas--nor the day before that," Belle bursts out
angrily. "I vow she looks as old as my mother when you get a fair view
of her in the daylight. But what does that matter? She has fascinated
him!"

"'How sweet the ways of women are,
How honeyed is their speech!'"

a man's voice says mockingly.

Honor turns lazily in her hammock, but Belle--poor blushing, mortified
Belle--springs to her feet with a cry.

"I knew I should find you here eating all those strawberries!" the
newcomer goes on placidly. "Girls do not expose their complexions to a
sun like this for nothing."

"Where are the others?" Honor asks lazily.

"'Deed and I hardly know. They strolled away by twos and threes till
there wasn't a soul left to chum with; and then I bethought me"--with a
mocking glance at Belle--"of you; and here I am."

"Polite!" her sister murmurs. "But, to tell the truth, dear, we should
prefer your room--no, your strawberries"--for he has begun his
onslaught already--"to your company."

"Sha'n't budge now till I've finished this pile," he retorts coolly;
and the girls laugh.

The sun slants fiery red between the boles of