And she did pass too—one of the three girls out of the whole number who had only worked for six months, and there was great rejoicing in the little jerry-built villa. Eileen went with her to the hall where the examination was held, and waited all the time she was there. Before Paddy appeared Basil joined her. “It matters a good deal to me,” he told Eileen, “because if she passes I’ve got to start working to pass too.” When Paddy came her eyes shone so, there was no occasion to ask her anything. “Oh, Eileen,” she said, “do you think I might dance a jig right here! Faith! and indaid!—I’m that plaized—!” Basil was pleased too, though he would have thought it bad form to show it too much. “Let’s go and have a beano,” he said. “We’ll dine at the Trocadero and then go to Daly’s.” “Oh, but I must rush home and tell mother.” “We can wire,” and he succeeded in persuading them to go with him to the nearest telegraph office and dispatch telegrams to Mrs Adair and the aunties; and then they trooped away delightedly to the Trocadero. Paddy dearly loved dining out in this way, and all those sitting near them could not refrain from glancing again and again at the table from which such a genuinely happy laugh rang out. Even Eileen was gay that evening, and Basil surpassed himself with tales of the medical students and the comic side of hospital life. When they at last got home they found Mrs Adair waiting with tears of gladness, for she knew how bitterly Paddy would have felt it had she failed. The following week they all went off to Seaforth for a month, neither Mrs Adair nor Eileen being well, and consequently the long journey to Omeath was pronounced too trying, and the nearer English seaside place decided upon.