"But perhaps she does; and I daresay he has money. Those English fellows generally have a reversion somewhere." "Not a penny," says Mr. Kelly. "And, whether or no, I don't believe she would look at him." "Not she," says Madam O'Connor. "I don't know that. And, even allowing what you say to be true, women are not always to be won by wealth" (with a faint sigh), "and he is a very good-looking fellow." "Is he?" says Desmond, speaking with an effort. "If flesh counts, of course he is. 'Let me have men about me that are fat; sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights.' To look at Ryde, one would fancy he slept well, not only by night but by day." "I feel as if I was going to be sorry for Ryde presently," says Mr. Kelly. "Well, he's not the man for Monica," says Madam O'Connor, with conviction. "See how sorrow grows upon her lovely face. For shame! go and release her, some one, from her durance vile. Take heart of grace, go in boldly, and win her, against all odds." "But if she will not be won?" says Desmond, smiling, but yet with an anxious expression. "'That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man if with his tongue he cannot win a woman,'" quotes Madam, in a low voice, turning to Desmond with a broad smile of the liveliest encouragement; "and as for you, Desmond, why, if I were a girl, I'd be won by yours at once." Desmond laughs. "I'm sorry I'm beneath your notice now." "Where's your uncle? Couldn't even my letter coax him here to-night?" "Not even that. He has gone nowhere now for so many years that I think he is afraid to venture." "Tut!" says Madam, impatiently; "because _he_ jilted a woman once is no reason why the rest of us should jilt _him_." * * * * * It is an hour later, and all the guests have gone except indeed Kit, who has been sent upstairs tired and sleepy to share Monica's room, and Terence and Brian Desmond, who with his friend Kelly are struggling into their top-coats in the hall. The rain is descending in torrents, and they are regarding with rather rueful countenances the dog-cart awaiting them outside, in which they had driven over in the sunny morning that seems impossible, when Madam O'Connor sweeps down upon them. "Take off those coats at once," she says. "What do you mean, Brian? I wouldn't have it on my conscience to send a rat out of my house on such a night as this, unless under cover." Her conscience is Madam's strong point. She excels in it. She ofttimes swears by it! Her promise to Miss Priscilla that Desmond shall not sleep beneath her roof during Monica's stay is forgotten or laid aside, and finally, with a smile of satisfaction, she sees the two young men carried off by Ronayne for a final smoke before turning in. "I don't feel a bit sleepy myself," says Monica, who is looking as fresh and sweet as if only now just risen. "Neither do I," says Olga. "Come to my room, then, and talk to me for a minute or two."