“Oh, no, sir. It’s not giv’ out yet exactly on the papers; but she’s keeping company with her ladyship, his lordship’s daughter.” Captain Deverell stared hard at the waiter, then looked at his friend and laughed. As he resumed his goggles, he exclaimed: “This Ireland is a funny place, isn’t it, Coxy? The land of romance, eh?” “Yes, one must come to the back of the world for news, I see. Well, now we really must get on. It is past four o’clock.” And the pair tramped noisily through the hall; and presently the motor departed with a triumphant “Tuff, tuff, tuff!” CHAPTER XVIII On the occasion of this visit Miss Usher happened to be laid up with a severe cold, suspiciously akin to a touch of the “flue,” and was nursing herself in her sitting-room. Meanwhile, her young companion had set out for Foley’s Corner, in quest of the white cat, who, despite of his buttered paws, daily returned to his late abode with praiseworthy devotion. It was true that the doors and windows were closed, that there was nothing available to eat or to drink, but nevertheless, he was to be found sitting with pathetic patience on Katty’s window, or making the air hideous with his melancholy caterwaulings. Mary thought but little of the mile and a half distance, and directly after tea she and “Rap” had departed to fetch “Whitey.” She enjoyed the walk there, when she could be alone, and think, and as Miss Usher was not about, she sallied forth, as in former times, in her “hair”--that is to say, bareheaded, with her hat slung over her arm. She wore a white spotted cotton dress-an old friend, made by an old friend--the weather was much too warm for crêpe and wool; and the same friend, Maggie Kane, met her, and walked part of the way with her, and said good-bye at the cross above the corner. Maggie’s manner had been a mixture of constraint and freedom, and Mary had begun to realise the bitter truth of Miss Usher’s prophecy. Old comrades and schoolfellows were changed--if she was really her ladyship, she had no call to mix with them as one of themselves; she had a right to go away. They were no longer at ease with Mary, nor she with them. Yes; Miss Usher’s plan was working to admiration. Formerly she went in and out among the neighbours, and they were only too glad to welcome Mary Foley; but this grand Lady Joseline was another person. At one time--even three weeks ago--Mary would have felt broken-hearted to leave them all. Now, much as she still liked them, and much as she dreaded her future, she was secretly impatient to depart. Wise old women had given her advice, and Mrs. Hogan, her former patroness, had said to her privately, “See here, Mary, me dear! ye have no part nor lot among us _now_; you’re a lady born, and a titled lady; sure, look at your finger-nails yerself!--and ye must just make the best of it. I’ve no call whatever to be talking so free with ye, and I know it; but I’m fond of ye, lovey, and