One bright September afternoon Mary was returning from Kilmoran, swinging her empty egg-basket, when in the lane she descried a handsome young gentleman in a grey tweed suit and cap, and immediately recognised Mr. Ulick. This was no great feat; she had heard up above that “the Captain” had arrived home now for a good spell, and was a really splendid-looking young officer. But Mr. Doran lacked Mary’s advantages; he had not the slightest suspicion of the identity of this pretty slim girl, in a well-fitting blue cotton dress, who was gradually approaching him from the demesne. He could not even place her. She was not the usual country type; her bones were small, her carriage erect, assured, graceful; and there was a finish about her dress that was unusual. He noticed the little bit of lace at the neck, the trim belt. However, she wore no hat, and was undoubtedly a peasant. As this girl was about to pass him, she dropped a hurried curtsey, and glanced at him timidly, with a pair of bewildering hazel eyes. Surely he had met those eyes somewhere? A sudden gleam of memory flashed into Ulick’s brain. He halted and exclaimed-- “Is it possible that you are Mary Foley?” “Yes, your honour.” Another curtsey, and it was difficult to ignore her girlish flutter, her evident joy at seeing him again. “I declare I scarcely recognised you. How you have grown!” “Children mostly do,” she rejoined with composure. “I suppose you consider yourself grown up?” “Yes, sir, I have left the schoolin’.” “And so your education is complete?” “I would not say that, but,” shifting her basket to her other arm, “I learnt all they taught, so I did.” “Reading, writing, arithmetic. The three R’s.” “Yes, and grammar, history, and geography. I loved geography.” “Well, it is a harmless passion. Can you tell me where Malta is?” “Faix, unless it’s lost, sir, it should be in the Mediterranean Sea.” “Oh, I see you cannot be puzzled, can you?” “Oh, then indeed I can, and am, often and many a time.” “Tell me what puzzles you.” “No, sir, I really couldn’t make so free”; and she moved a step, as if to pass on. Two long hours lay between him and dinner. Young Doran had nothing particular to do; his mother was irritable and continually scolding some one. It was rather pleasant, standing in this fragrant lane, talking to this pretty, shy, yet audacious colleen. “You have been up at the Castle, I presume?” he continued. “Yes, your honour, selling eggs to her ladyship.” “I hope you make a good thing out of it?” “Well,” a pause, “I just bid to take what her ladyship gives me--sixpence the dozen, and young chickens a shilling a couple.” “A shilling--a--a--couple!” he repeated; and he felt his face becoming warm. “Well, of course I could get more in the market, or even from the hawkers,” she continued, “but ye see we live on the land, and her ladyship has the first call, and--and--anyhow, though the price is not much, the Castle is convenient-like.”