“Goodness!” exclaimed Paddy in alarm. “Do I dance with you next?” “According to my programme you do.” “Oh, that’s all right,” frankly. “I was only thinking my hair was rather untidy, and my face somewhat highly coloured for such an august occasion as a dance with your majesty.” “Your hair never looked better,” he replied, “and your colour is most becoming.” “Really!” with a gay laugh. “If you keep this up for five minutes I shan’t know myself. You must be careful, for the high honour of dancing with you alone is almost sufficient to unhinge my giddy brain.” “You could hardly dance with me and someone else at the same time,” with corresponding lightness; “but I’m glad that you appreciate the honour so thoroughly.” “Appreciate it! Why, my dear man, I’ve been dying for this dance all the evening.” “May you be forgiven,” he retorted as they glided away. Paddy was quite as good a dancer as Eileen when she gave herself up to it, and, with such a perfect waltzer as Lawrence, she could not fail to do so, even if she could not be prevailed upon to enjoy it in silence. So, as they glided round, she plied him with a string of eager questions relating to dancing and gayeties in far-off lands. “You ought to get your father to take you abroad,” he told her presently! “you’d enjoy all the novelty so tremendously.” “Should I meet a lot of nice, superior, cultured young men like you?” “Well, hardly up to my standard,” he laughed. “Then I don’t want to go. When I can talk to you, and dance with you, and gaze upon you here, why cross the sea to other climes?” “I was thinking more of the countries.” “And have you ever seen anything in all the world so beautiful as the Mourne Mountains and Carlingford Loch?” “Yes, many things.” “I don’t believe it,” stoutly. “Well, come and see some of my photographs in my den.” “What! Enter the throne-room!” in mock amaze. “Yes; why not?” “Oh no ‘why not’ at all. I’m simply dying to go. I have been, ever since I can remember.—I’m wild with curiosity to know what kind of things an animal of your lofty nature collects in its den,” and she followed him eagerly down a long passage, and through a little conservatory into the large, airy room known as Lawrence’s den. When he had switched on the electric light, her eyes grew wide with interest and admiration. “Well! if this isn’t just all right,” she exclaimed. “How daddy would love it!” “It’s somewhat warlike,” glancing at his swords and weapons, “so you ought to feel at home.” “I?—Why?” in surprise. “Because you are always trying to quarrel with me.” “Nonsense! I only tell you a few home truths for your good.” “I hope you find your pupil progressing favourably.” “Very middling,” with a shake of her head. “You know perfectly well you have been bored to death nearly the whole evening, because there were only two or three people you thought worth talking to.” “And if so—it is hardly my fault.”