“Sure, ’t is you do be droivin’ everybody from the house wid yer pomes,” commented Mrs. O’Daly, ungenerously. “Oh, no, I assure you!” protested the young man. “I’ve often heard of Mr. O’Daly’s verses, and very soon now I’m coming to get him to read them all to me. Have you got some about Cocoanut, Mr. O’Daly?” “This particular one,” said Cormac, doggedly, “trates of a much later period. Indeed, ’t is so late that it hasn’t happened at all yit. ’T is laid in futurity, sir, an’ dales wid the grand career me son is to have whin he takes his proud position as _The_ O’Daly, the proide of West Carbery.” “Well, now, you’ve got to read me that the very first thing when I come next time,” said Bernard. Then he added, with a smile: “For, you know, I want you to let me come again.” “Sir, ye can’t come too soon or stop too long,” Mrs. O’Daly assured him. “Sure, what wid there bein’ no railway to Muirisc an’ no gintry near by, an’ what wid the dale we hear about the O’Dalys an’ their supayriority over the O’Mahonys, an’ thim pomes, my word, we do be starvin’ for the soight of a new face!” “Then I can’t be too glad that my face _is_ new,” promptly put in Bernard, wreathing the countenance in question with beaming amiability. “And in a few days I shall want to talk business with Mr. O’Daly, too, about the mining rights we shall need to take up.” “Ye’ll be welcome always,” said O’Daly. And with that comforting pledge in his ears, the young man shook hands with the couple and made his way out of the room. “Don’t trouble yourselves to come out,” he begged. “I feel already at home all over the house.” “Now that’s a young man of sinse,” said the O’Daly, after the door had closed behind their visitor. “’T is not manny ye’ll foind nowadays wid such intelligince insoide his head.” “Nor so comely a face on the outside of it,” commented his wife. ***** At the end of the hallway this intelligent young man was not surprised to encounter Kate, and she made no pretense of not having waited for him. Yet, as he approached, she moved to pass by. “’T is althered opinions you hold about the O’Mahonys and the O’Dalys,” she said, with studied coldness and a haughty carriage of her dark head. He caught her sleeve as she would have passed him. “See here,” he whispered, eagerly, “don’t you make a goose of yourself. I’ve told more lies and acted more lies generally this afternoon for _you_ than I would for all the other women on earth boiled together. Sh-h! Just you keep mum, and we’ll see you through this thing slick and clean.” “I want no lies told for me, or acted either,” retorted Kate. Her tone was proud enough still, but the lines of her face were relenting.