“Rubbish!” exclaimed Paddy, whose ill-humour was still not very far-off. “A man with a lovely smile and a sweet voice is always a silly ass. I expect he curls his hair, and wears patent-leather boots, and lavender kid gloves.” “You’re very cross,” from Kitty in an aggrieved tone; “I thought you’d be pleased to hear there was likely to be some one fresh at the tennis parties, to talk to.” “So I should be if they were jolly, but I’m sure this man isn’t. He sounds just awful. I loathe him already.” Kitty was silent for a moment, then she asked suddenly, “Where’s Jack?” “I don’t know,” with a fine air of indifference. “He was so long getting ready, that I just came across without him. I must go back now, as I’m alone, and if the wind gets up, I mightn’t be able to manage the boat. Say good-by to Mrs Henderson for me—she’s just in the middle of a set,” and without waiting for more, she slipped away unobserved, and hurried down to the water’s edge. Loosening her boat quickly, she sprang in and pushed off, the light of an adventure glowing in her eyes. “Now to ‘breast the waves,’ as Eileen puts it in her poetry,” she said gleefully, and headed for the open sea. For about half an hour everything went well, in spite of the continued freshening of the breeze. Paddy trimmed her sail in a masterly fashion, and felt so elated that she quite forgot her grievance of the afternoon, and sang little “coon” songs to herself from joyousness. Two or three times she met some old skipper who knew her well by sight, and shouted a word of warning, about the breeze being very stiff out beyond the bay—but she only called back a friendly good-day, and held on her way. As she neared Greenore she met another boat, not much bigger than her own, which a young man was sailing, like herself, single-handed, and as they passed he watched her with no small wonder. He had himself started off at mid-day in spite of various warnings concerning the choppiness of the wind, but being a first-rate yachtsman he had no fear, and had even gone out into the open sea beyond Greenore. When, however, he met this other small skiff, handled only by a mere girl, he could hardly believe his own eyes, and could not help staring hard to make sure he was right. “Upon my word!” he ejaculated mentally—“these Irish girls have some pluck,”—but he instinctively loosened his sail, and let it flap idly, while he turned with a half-anxious expression to watch her movements. Paddy, already intoxicated with excitement, and what she had already achieved, was becoming more and more rash; and when a sudden strong gust caught her sail and nearly capsized her, the occupant of the other boat gave a muttered exclamation, and prepared at once to turn round, with a vague idea of hanging about in her vicinity.