"Oh--I know that you're all right," retorted Charlie, with a laugh. "And you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that it's on Moira's account as much as on mine. She wouldn't like to see me suffer, I know." He smiled expectantly, as he looked at the old woman. "Very well, I'll talk to Moira about it," was her surprising reply, as she dropped the keys back into her pocket and turned away. But that would not suit Charlie at all; Moira might learn it afterwards, but not now. "No--no--you mustn't do that," he exclaimed hurriedly. "It might--might trouble her, you understand; I don't want her to think that I'm worried to such an extent that I have to come to you. I wouldn't say anything to Moira, Patience." The old woman looked at him keenly. "Either I speak to Moira, or I let the matter alone altogether," she said. "Very well--let it alone altogether then," he exclaimed violently. "It's only what I might have expected; anyone with any money in this world seems to desire to stick to it, whether they actually need it or not; there's no charity--no open-handedness--no disposition to help any poor devil who has fallen by the way. Keep your money." "I will," said the old woman imperturbably. Whether or not Patience waited, in the hope or expectation that Moira would say something to her concerning that all-important engagement, it is impossible to say; certainly she made no attempt to question the girl. She watched her intently at times; would look across at her over the rims of her spectacles, and would note the bowed head and the close-drawn lips; but she said nothing. She saw, perhaps with a pained perplexity, that Moira grew quieter and quieter as the weeks went on; that she sat more often in an attitude of dejection, staring into the fire; but still she said nothing. Until at last one night, when they sat alone together, Moira rose quickly from her chair, and made a movement towards the door; it was as though she had suddenly made up her mind to a thing that must be done. "Where are you going?" asked the old woman, almost in a whisper. "I'm going down--down to see Charlie," she replied, and laughed a little, as though to reassure not only the anxious old woman, but herself. "Only for a moment or two," she added. Patience rose as the girl left the room; she stood still, with her hand resting on the table; she watched the door through which Moira had disappeared. Then, with set lips, and some new determination in her eyes, she crossed the room on tip-toe, and went out on to the landing. There she stood and looked over, and listened, and presently stole down the stairs, and stood outside the door. Hearing but little, she yet understood what the girl's errand was--seemed to understand in a flash all that the change in the girl had indicated--all that the old woman herself had been until that night unable to understand.