“It’s such fun to tease you, Paddy,” he said. “You do get so deliriously wild about nothing. Good-night,” as they reached her door. “Don’t fling the plates about when you get in, it’s such an expensive amusement,” and he went off down the road. All evening Paddy remained moody and preoccupied, revolving in her mind how to tell Eileen about Lawrence. In the end she waited until bed-time, and they were alone. She then began a long rigmarole about the extraordinariness of coincidence, which made Eileen look at her with wonderment, and question in her own mind if she had a bad headache or anything. Paddy noticed it, but held on until she was hopelessly and inextricably mixed up, and then, after all her fine preparation, she suddenly blurted out: “Lawrence Blake is engaged. I heard it from a friend of his this afternoon.” Eileen turned deathly white and gripped a table near her. She looked as if she were going to faint. “Oh, Eily! don’t look like that!” cried poor Paddy. “What a blundering idiot I am. Oh! don’t take it to heart dreadfully—he isn’t worth it—really, really, he isn’t.” It was too late for Eileen to prevaricate, so she just sat down and leaned her face in her hands and said, “Tell me about it.” Paddy told her all she knew, and how she had heard of Gwendoline Carew before and seen her photograph, but how, when she taxed Lawrence, he had denied there was anything between them. “I suppose he was just hesitating,” she finished, “and as soon as he got back to her he made up his mind.” Eileen said nothing. It was a bitter blow to her, but no words could ease it now. Paddy, however, slipped down on her knees and threw her arms round her. “Eily, Eily!” she cried. “I’ll kill him, I will indeed, if you take it to heart so. I don’t know how he dare hurt you, but you are well rid of him; he is just a scoundrel and no gentleman at all, and he would never have made you happy. I am quite sure he never would. You didn’t know him so well as I did. I used to hear from Kathleen how queer he was at home. Sometimes he would scarcely speak for days, and he just damped everything for them all; but he was so selfish he did not care. And I hate to tell tales, but I am not sure that he doesn’t drink, Eileen. He used to at one time. I feel awful to think you are unhappy through him, but I’d feel more awful still, I think, if you were going to marry him.”