“Daddy always wanted a son, and I did my best. He is daddy’s brother, and he wants a daughter—I am going to do my best again. I never seem to quite ‘get there,’ do If—I am evidently destined only to shine as a substitute—to be only the-next-best-thing.” “But, Paddy,” coming behind her and leaning over the table with his arm across her shoulders, “you hate London so,” coaxed Jack. “How are Eileen and I to be perfectly happy, thinking of you pining for fresh air here?” “You must not think—it would only be silly—you will have each other and,”—there was a little catch in her voice—“mother.” Mrs Adair looked up quickly; hitherto she had not spoken. “No, Paddy,” she said, “I shall stay with you. I do not mind London at all now I have got used to it, and I could not leave you behind alone. I should not be happy at Omeath without you.” But Paddy would not hear of it, and after a long discussion it was finally decided that she should remain with her uncle for six months. Having gained her point, she quickly drew their attention back to the wall-papers, which were eagerly discussed in their turn, amid the usual amount of nonsense and twitting on her part and Jack’s. The next day she told her uncle that she had won her point, and was coming to them, at any rate for the present. Something like tears instantly dimmed the kindly doctor’s eyes; he had grown more than fond of his young dispenser and niece. “It will be as good as having a daughter,” he said, a little huskily. Paddy laughed. “It is my particular _forte_,” she said, “to be the-next-best-thing.” Her aunt was no less pleased. “Really, my dear,” she remarked, folding her hands contentedly upon her ample front, “I shall be very pleased to have you. I don’t like girls, as a rule—they’re all so flighty and flirty, and fond of gew-gaws and things, but you are somehow different. You are not as interested in the church guilds and parish meetings as I could wish, and you are a little wanting in respect to poor Mr Dickinson,” naming the meek young curate; “but you are young yet, and by and by you will see how empty and shallow and vain are all amusements compared with church work and the beautiful church services.” Paddy had her doubts, but she kept them to herself, and just then Basil came in to give his opinion. “The guv’nor says you’re going to stay here after March,” he exclaimed. “How beastly, jolly, thundering nice!” “My dear boy!” gasped his mother, horror-struck; “what an extraordinary way of expressing yourself.” “Says what I mean pretty straight, anyhow. I guess I’ll have a key of the dispensary and only allow Paddy in at her proper hours. If we don’t mind she’ll go messing about with those silly old medicines half the day.”