“It is,” was the humble admission; “but it was not altogether what you might call a cabin.” “No? And what, then--a hut?” “Just a decent slated house with two good bedrooms, forby, a loft, and a fine kitchen and scullery.” “Where did _you_ sleep?” “In the loft.” “But, dearest, you said there were two bedrooms.” “Yes, but we kept potatoes in one, and I liked being up high. And now, with your leave, I’d like to go away and write a few letters.” “So then”--with a playful air--“you can write?” “Oh yes, and read, and cipher. I had good schooling.” “And what are your accomplishments, Joseline?” “Not much to brag about.” “Still, I’m confident you are clever at some things.” “I can sing, and play the concertina.” “Oh, the concertina!” repeated Lady Mulgrave, with a faint shudder. “And I can knit and dance; and I’m a good milker--if that counts.” “So, then, you had a cow? Any pigs?” “No. We had three, and sometimes four, cows. We kept the Rectory in milk, and the police barracks as well.” “Did you do all this yourself--no assistants?” “Me mother--that’s”--becoming scarlet--“Mrs. Foley,--wasn’t up to much, and I used to have a girl in on weekdays to lend a hand, and a boy of a Sunday--but I got shut of him.” “And where did you shut him? And why?” “Oh, because he was always in a hurry to be off, tearing at the cows at two o’clock, instead of six, because, being Sunday, he wanted to do the bona fide on his bicycle.” “Dearest, what _do_ you mean?” “The bona fide traveller, you know, is allowed refreshments. He would take a spin of six or seven miles--get a drink at a public-house. May I go now, please?” “Yes, of course, dear.” And as the girl crossed the room and disappeared, Lady Mulgrave turned to the marchioness and said, with a shrug, “Is she not _too_ quaint for words! playing the concertina, and the boy doing--what was it?--the bona fide on a bicycle!” “I think she is a sweet, simple, good girl,” declared her aunt--“just one of nature’s ladies.” “Oh, she is simple enough,” acquiesced the other; but in her voice there was a belittling and malicious note. Joseline spent an hour in writing letters to Miss Usher, Peggy Carroll, and Mrs. Hogan--letters written on beautiful thick paper, and ornamented with a neat gold crown. After these had been despatched, she accompanied her father on a tour of inspection round the grounds, the gardens, and the stable-yard. It was a bright, frosty afternoon, and she felt invigorated and even gay. The two made steady progress in intimacy; her awe of him had entirely abated, and she talked freely, expressing her delight in the greenhouses and horses and dogs with truly Irish enthusiasm. As they walked away from the golf links he said, “You must learn to play golf and billiards. I will teach you--yes, and to ride too.” “I’ve everything to learn--and that’s the truth.” “I am glad you and Tito seem to hit it off.”