Mary stared at him interrogatively, and then a sudden tinge of pink, flooded her pale face. “Ye mane Mr. Ulick,” she said boldly. “I’d just hate----Whist!” for here Miss Usher broke in upon the _tête-à-tête_, which had lasted more than an hour. It seemed to her, that the time had been well employed. Mary’s expression was not quite so dismal; there was a little colour in her face, a spark of animation in her glance. She accepted a bunch of flowers from Mike, and as Mike and Miss Usher moved away together, talking, they suddenly noticed that the girl lagged behind. “Take no notice,” he muttered; “she’s coming to herself nicely. I think she’s picking a pebble off the terrace where her mother used to walk, aye, and a bit of a rose from the house. Pass no remark whatever, but ye may take it from me, that it’s a good sign. The lady bred in her bones is bound to come out _yet_----” CHAPTER XVII As they swung along homewards, one on each side of a well-hung jaunting-car, with a slashing four-year-old between the shafts, Miss Usher and her companion never exchanged a single remark. The elder lady was reflecting that she had done a capital afternoon’s work in introducing Mary to her birthplace, and she felt confident that the words she had heard from old Mike had sunk down into her heart, and brought the girl to realise what had never yet dawned upon her: that only by birth--the mere accident of birth--did she belong to this beautiful, romantic, green and blue country--for if the trees and pastures were emerald, the mountains were royal blue, the skies cobalt.