"My dear young people," said Foster, in rather an annoyed tone, "don't you see what must happen? Mrs. Verschoyle will lose her head, and they will quarrel, and when thieves fall out, honest men get their due." "But I don't see----" began Ronald. "Of course, you don't," said Gerald, with a dry laugh; "but if that interview has taken place, I'll bet you what you like one of us three will hear from Mrs. Verschoyle, for if her temper is what you say, she'll move heaven and earth to stop the marriage." "I hope so," said Carmela, sadly. "Of course, she will," replied Foster, cheerfully; "she will throw away honour, fortune, life itself, to obtain her ends, if she's so madly in love. When a man starts for the Devil, he generally arrives, but when a woman begins she runs past the Devil--and goes God knows where. Now, let us return to the drawing-room." So, after this serious interview, they all went back to the drawing-room, where they were questioned by everyone about their past. "We've been in the smoking-room," said Carmela, with a smile, her heart now feeling lighter than it had been for many a day. "Oh!" said Pat, in mock horror; "do Maltese ladies smoke?" "You ought to know, Pat," retorted Ronald; "you saw enough of the sex in Valletta." "It's my kindly heart," retorted Pat, who was never at a loss for an answer. "Sure, I didn't like to see the poor things castin' such longing glances, without responding to 'em." Everyone but Mrs. Pellypop laughed at this, and she snorted reprovingly. "With such views, Mr. Ryan," said that good lady, "I hope you will never marry." "Why not?" asked Ryan, glancing at Kate; "my natural inclination for matrimony is strong." "I hope your wife will be," said Ronald, with a laugh; "or she'll never be able to keep you in order." Foster had established himself by Bell, who did not appear to discourage the advances of the young barrister, though her attention was somewhat distracted by Bubbles, who sat next to her. Seeing this, Pat, who had a fellow-feeling for lovers, drew the young man away. "Bubbles," he said, "was it you that sat for that Pear's soap picture?" "Of course," retorted Bubbles; "I was the original infant." And indeed he did not look unlike the picture, with his beardless face and curly hair. "Faith," said Mr. Ryan, "it's a mighty original infant you are, anyhow." "Well, we can't all be Irish," said Bubbles, satirically. "And a great pity it is ye can't," retorted Pat, calmly; "the finest nation under the sun. Did ye ever hear anything that touched your heart like Irish music?" "Sing us some, and then we'll judge," said Sir Mark, suddenly interposing. So Pat, nothing loth, went to the piano, and sang Moore's exquisite song, "She is far from the Land," in such a pathetic manner that he cast quite a gloom over the company, but restored the joyous tone by dashing into "Garryowen."