“Ah, yes, to be sure! And I suppose you’re—er—very proud of it. Funny thing how the Irish fancy their nationality.” “Not half so funny as some of the things you fancy yourselves for over in England,” she retorted, getting a little exasperated. Basil glanced down over his collar rather as if he were taking stock of a curious kind of animal, and Paddy began to fidget. She was becoming more and more conscious of a desperate impulse to ruffle his hair, and tumble his collar, and disarrange generally this painfully well-dressed young man, with his air of extreme condescension. “Ah!” he said satirically, “you cultivate the art of repartee in Ireland—as well as potatoes.” “We cultivate men, too,” with scorn. “You ought to go over there and finish your education.” This rather took his breath away for a minute, and while he was recovering Paddy’s mood changed. “That was rude,” she said. “I’m sorry.” This surprised him still more, and he mentally designated her the oddest fish he had come across. “Oh, don’t mention it,” he replied with a paternal air. “I like people who say what they think.” There was a pause, then he asked: “I suppose you are fond of theatres?” “I have never been to one.” “Never been to a theatre!” he gasped. “Impossible! Why you haven’t done anything!” Paddy leaned forward suddenly. “Have you ever shot a snipe?” she said. “No,” wonderingly. “Well, I have,” and she closed her lips with an expressive snap, and there was a slight pause. “You’re a—er—sportswoman then?” at last. “I don’t shoot my bird sitting, if that’s what you mean.” Basil had no mind to reveal his ignorance upon sport generally, so he tried another tack, asking: “I suppose you have read all the new novels.” “I have ready scarcely anything, except ‘The Jungle Tales,’ ‘A Voyage in the Cachalot,’ and the Bible. I never had time to read.” “Never had time!” he echoed. “I thought people who lived in the country had no other way to kill time.” Paddy did not reply, so he asked, “What did you do beside shoot, then!” “Oh, I could sail a bit, and fish a bit, and climb a bit. Then there was the hockey club, and tennis club, and golf club. The days weren’t as a rule half long enough.” Basil looked down with some show of interest. “You’ll rather miss all that in London,” he suggested. “I guess so,” was Paddy’s short, laconic response, and she fixed her eyes on the fire. “Still, there’ll be lots of other things,” he went on. “Dances, and theatres, and—er—shops. The guv’nor’s awfully easy-going, you know—you won’t have to do much work.” “Do you mean Uncle Frank?” raising her eyebrows a little. “Yes, of course. Why?” Paddy did not answer, and just then her aunt come back. “Basil, my dear,” said his mother anxiously, “I don’t like to think you are working so hard. I’m sure you’re not strong enough. Last night it was quite one o’clock when I heard you moving about overhead.” “Oh, that won’t hurt me,” carelessly, “and it’s so much easier to read at night.”