When they first got into the railway carriage it was crowded, but by slow degrees the passengers got out. They were going, some in one direction, some in another, until at last Tilly and Mr. Flannigan found themselves alone. Then Mr. Flannigan turned his decidedly ungainly back upon Tilly, and having secured that day's copy of the Cork _Constitution_ began to read. He would do anything under the sun for the Desmonds, but he disliked this job with regard to Tilly. At last she could bear his silence and his gravity no longer. She sprang from her seat in the opposite corner and came and sat facing him. "How soon shall we get to Rosslare?" she asked. Mr. Flannigan very slowly dropped his newspaper, looked fixedly at Tilly and then said in a solemn, very sombre voice, "I'm not tellin' ye, for I don't know." "Oh, Mr. Flannigan," said Tilly, with a choking sound in her throat. "Are you hating me as much as the others?" "I'm not lovin' ye at the present moment," said Flannigan. He resumed his paper, reading it with such apparent zeal that Tilly might as well not exist. She felt more furious than ever. She began to sob, she sobbed very loud. Flannigan took no notice whatever of the noise she was making for some time, but when it became unbearable he said, "For the Lord's sake don't slobber, girl!" "What's slobber?" asked Tilly, who pretended not to be acquainted with the word, and who wanted at any cost to get Mr. Flannigan into conversation, but the clergyman did not reply. He was buried again in his newspaper. Tilly's sobs, which she thought so affecting, but which the old clergyman called "slobber," grew fainter for lack of nutriment. By-and-bye they reached Rosslare, where a rather small boat was going to cross over to Fishguard. "Ye'll have a rough crossing, I'm thinkin'," said Flannigan. "The waves look dirty, to be sure. Ye'd best go and lie down. I'll see ye to your cabin and then say good-bye. There's a return train, which will take me back to Desmondstown in time for supper." "Oh, oh, Mr. Flannigan," sobbed Tilly. "You don't believe all these bad things of me?" "And why shouldn't I? There was the ten pins as large as life. Didn't I count 'em when The Desmond was tellin' ye to begone?" "But you do know, you must know, Mr. Flannigan, that _she_ is only a shopkeeper----" "_She!_ I'm not acquainted with your meaning." "It's that horrid Margot," said Tilly. "Have I not bought hats from her and robes from her at Arles, and don't I know what she really and truly is like?" "Oh, do ye? I'm thinkin' ye don't. I'll be wishin' ye a good day now, Miss Tilly. Don't ye try pins on horses again when there are cats about." "It was a horrid mean thing to do," said Tilly. "Anyone else would have called out, but he's too mean."