"The old quarry! I wonder where the old quarry is," she thought. "It must be a good way from here. We have such a place at home, too. I did not suppose one was to be found in this horrid part of the world. I am rather glad there is an old quarry; it was quite nice of little Susy to suggest it, and she will meet me, the little colleen. That is good. What fun! I shall probably have to return through the bedroom window, so I may as well explore and make all in readiness. Dear, dear! I should like David to help me. It isn't the naughtiness that I care about, but it is the fun of being naughty; it is the fun of having a sort of dangerous thing to do. That is the real joy of it. It is the ecstacy of shocking the prim Alice! Oh! there is her step. She's coming up, the creature! Now then, I had best be as mum as I can unless I want to distract the poor thing entirely." Alice entered the room. "Do you greatly object to shutting the window?" she said to Kathleen. "I have a slight cold, and the draught will make it worse." "Why, then, of course, darling," said Kathleen in a hearty voice, as she brought down the window with a bang. "Would you like me to shut the ventilator in the grate?" she then asked. "No. How silly you are!" "Is it silly? I thought you had a cold. You are afraid of the draughts. Why are you going out?" "I want to see a school friend." "You will be back in time for tea, won't you?" "Can't say." "But your mother, the poor tired one, asked you to be back." "I do wish, Kathleen, that you wouldn't call mother by that ridiculous name. She is no more tired than--than other women are." "If that is the case," said Kathleen, "I heartily hope that I shall not live to be a woman. I wouldn't like us all to be as fagged as she is--poor, dear, gentle soul! She's overworked, and that's the truth." Kathleen saw that she was annoying Alice, and proceeded with great gusto to expand her theory with regard to Mrs. Tennant. "She's in the condition when she might drop any time," she said. "We have had old Irishwomen overworked like that, and all of a sudden they went out like snuffs: that is what happens. What are you putting on your best hat for?" "That is no affair of yours." "Oh, hoity-toity, how grand we are! Do you know, Alice, you haven't got at all nice manners. You think you have, but you haven't. We are never rude like that in Ireland. We tell a few lies now and then, but they are only _polite_ lies--the kind that make other people happy. Alice, I should like to know which is best--to be horribly cross, or to tell nice polite lies. Which is the most wicked? I should like to know." "Then I will tell you," said Alice. "What you call a nice lie is just a very great and awful sin; and if you don't believe me, go to church and listen when the commandments are read." "In future," said Kathleen very calmly, "now that I really know your views, I will always tell you _home truths_. You can't blame me, can you?"