“I’d rather have thought of you running wild at Omeath still,” he said, “but it can’t be helped, and I shall have to make the best of it. Perhaps, sometimes you’ll be glad to feel there’s some one thinking of you, some one awfully sorry for you, across the sea. At least, I hope you won’t forget altogether?” Still Paddy kept her face averted. “I shall not forget,” was all she would say. “I wonder if it would be too much to ask for an occasional letter,” he went on. “Perhaps, if you remembered what a boon it would be to the exile—?” “Oh, yes, I’ll write to you sometimes,” with frankness. “I dare say I shall be glad to air my opinions upon London and things generally, now and again.” “Not so glad as I shall be to get them. How I wish I could have been here and, perhaps, helped you all a little, and still had the good position. I could at least have taken you to theatres, and down the river.” “It would have been nice,” she assented. “I may get back in four years,” he continued, “but hardly before.” “When do you sail?” “Next week.” “Next week!” in astonishment. “How near it seems.” “Yes.” He hesitated. “May I come and see you again!” “Of course you must come and say good-by.” “Very well then. Next Friday evening!” It was agreed so, and just then Mrs Adair and the doctor came in, and after a little Ted rose to go. The following Friday, as luck would have it, Basil took it into his head to remain at home, and ensconced himself in the drawing-room as if he meant to stay. When Ted arrived he was still there, and Paddy felt vexed. Her feelings, however, were nothing to Ted’s. He would gladly have picked the young man up by his collar and dropped him out of the window into the street below. After half-an-hour of vain efforts to keep the conversation going naturally, the kindly doctor himself came to the rescue. “I’m sure these young people would like to talk over old times together without us,” he said, “as they’re not to meet again for so long. Come along, my dear, we’ll go to my room as usual, and Basil can come too.” Basil looked annoyed, but could hardly do other than follow the others from the room, though he loftily declined the invitation to the surgery. “Is that young man your cousin!” asked Ted when they were alone. “Yes, but I’m not proud of the relationship,” said outspoken Paddy. Ted only smiled. He could afford to be more magnanimous now he had gone. He got up and strolled round the room, not because he was tired of sitting at all, but because he was thus enabled to make an entirely free choice of where he would sit down again. Paddy was on the sofa, so as it is much easier to talk to anyone from the same sofa, instead of shouting from another chair, he chose the vacant space beside her. Paddy fidgeted with her hands, and again took to studying the glowing coals as if she had never seen a fire before. “Do you know I have taken a great liberty?” he said presently. “Yes!” looking up.