“Yes, that is so,” said Frank, obviously pleased by the remark. Then, after a pause, “Mount Rorke is a pretty place, and I don't think I could live long away from it. After a time I always find myself sighing for the bleakness and barrenness of the West. The hedgerows of England are pretty enough; but I hate the brick buildings.” “What kind of buildings do you have in Ireland?” “Everything is built of grey stone, a cold grey tint on a background of green pasture lands and blue mountains. I daresay you wouldn't like it. It would recall nothing to you, but when I think of it, much less see it, I re-live my childhood all over again. I am a great person for old times. That is the reason I like coming down here. I knew you all so long ago; how well I can remember you--three dark little things. You used to sit on my knee.” “And do you find nothing nice in the present?” “Of course I do; it is nice to walk in the garden with you, but it seems to me you have all moved away from me a little. Grace is engaged, you are engaged--” “Who said I was engaged?” “Ha, ha, you see I hear everything. What is his name--Alfred?” “I suppose Sally told you.” “I won't tell you who told me, I never betray secrets. You had a desperate flirtation two years ago, and the man had to go away, and you promised to wait for him.” “I don't mind telling you--I did meet a man about two years ago whom I rather liked; I used to see a great deal of him at tennis parties and balls; he used to ask me to marry him. He wanted me to engage myself to him, and I told him it would be much better to wait and see what father would say.” “And what did your father say?” “Father, he never knew anything about it. You may as well tell me, I know it was Sally. I suppose she told you I was very much in love with him?” “She said, at least, the person who told me said, that you would never care for any one else.” “So you've been talking about me though you promised you wouldn't talk any more,” Maggie said to herself, “All right, my lady--very well, we shall see.” “Grace is waving her parasol to us. Lunch must be ready.” Maggie and Grace had calculated that if they could limit the champagne to half a dozen bottles they would be able to hide the deficit from their father's scrutiny; but the servants seemed to be always filling the glasses of the Southdown Road people, and lunch was not half over when they heard the fourth bottle go pop. Maggie looked at Sally across the pile of peaches, but Sally had no ears for the report, only for Jimmy's voice. Her head wagged as she talked, and Maggie wondered if they were exchanging napkins or rings beneath the table.