Lawrence pretended not to hear, but led the way to their compartment and placed the magazines on the seat. Paddy was thoughtful a moment, and again a little black. “I don’t want to travel first,” she said. “I can’t afford it. Let us meet at Holyhead and cross on the steamer together.” “It’s a pity to waste the ticket,” said Lawrence, “and the thirds are so crowded. Besides there is no time now.” “No, they’re just off,” put in Gwen quickly. “Good-by, Paddy. Sorry I can’t be in for that settling-up. I’m so afraid Lawrence will cheat you. Have a good time. See you on Thursday,” and a few seconds later the train was steaming out of the station. Gwen’s last remark with reference to Thursday was an allusion to a visit she and her adoring Goliath were paying to the Blakes in a few days. They were to have gone over with Lawrence, but at the last her parents refused to part with her for Christmas Day, and they were not starting till the twenty-seventh. “It will be lovely to have Gwen in Ireland,” Paddy said, as they settled themselves, “but she ought to have paid her first visit in the summer.” Lawrence gave a little laugh. “I don’t suppose the seasons make much difference to people in her and Bob’s happy state of mind. It’s just likely she will hardly know whether it is December or July,”—then he proceeded to shake out his big, warm rug and tuck it all round Paddy. She tried to remonstrate, but she might as well have talked to the rug. “I won’t worry you the whole way if you’re good, Paddy,” he said, with a smile, in which there was a touch of wistfulness; “but you’ll just have to let me take care of you; it would be any man’s right who had known you as long as I have.” She coloured and lowered her eyes, but made no further demur. When he was satisfied he had done everything possible, and again sat down, she opened one of the papers, and buried her face in it, pretending to be carefully studying the illustrations. But in reality something of a tumult was stirring in her heart. It was so good to be taken care of—poor Paddy. The way her mother and Eileen had gone on ahead had hurt her more than any one knew, and Lawrence’s careful attentions only made her feel the contrast. If it had only been Jack—or indeed anyone but Lawrence. He had opened a paper also and now sat quietly reading opposite to her, not attempting to worry her with conversation. Once or twice Paddy ventured to glance covertly into his thin, keen face after discovering she could do so without his knowledge.