As little Margot had come back to Desmondstown now to live, as it was to be her home in the future, with the exception of the one month which she would spend with _la belle_ grand'mère, and as _mon_ grandpère was dead, her return was quiet and without that sense of rejoicing which stimulated it on her last return. There were no bonfires; there were no excited, screaming peasants; but Phinias Maloney was there with his little old cart, and the baby had grown so big that his mother thought that she might bring him out just for the bit colleen to kiss him. They drove quietly up to the rickety old house. The girls were standing in the hall, all three of them dressed as young and as little like their age as ever. They all came forward to greet her, but Auntie Norah cried out: "Whyever aren't ye in black, pushkeen?" "Why should I be in black?" replied Margot. "Because, for sure, isn't your French grandfather killed entirely?" "My French grandfather is in heaven, and very--very happy," said Margot. "He is with God, the dear God who loves us all, and I am not going to wear black for him, for if he could speak to me now he wouldn't like it. I loved him most dearly; I shall always love his memory, but now I want The Desmond and Madam." "Then whip into the room," said Bridget. "Why, to say the least of it, you know your way about, pushkeen." "Yes," said Margot. She could not help giving a happy little laugh; she could not help feeling a great load rolling off her heart. This was her real home, her beloved home, her home of all homes. There were no people like the Irish; there was no one in the world like The Desmond. She was wearing a little dress of thick, white serge, coat and skirt to match, and a piece of white fox fur round her neck; her little cap was also of white and was pushed back off her dark hair. Her cheeks were blooming with roses. The Desmond had felt a momentary fear at the thought of meeting his little granddaughter, but when he saw her with her rosy cheeks and brilliant dark eyes and white apparel, he gave a sigh of rapture. "Eh, eh, but it is joyful to behold ye, my pushkeen," he cried, and then they were clasped in each other's arms. Madam went out, as was her custom, to prepare supper for the little pushkeen; and this was Margot's opportunity to tell her proud old grandfather what had occurred. She told him all from beginning to end; her great dark eyes were fixed on his face; his eyes, nearly as dark, regarded her gravely. She did not leave out a single point. She explained the entire secret, the miserable little secret which had turned her into a shopgirl, all for such a wretched thing as a _dot_.