"I've only got a third-class ticket," he said cheerfully; "but I shall travel first class the whole way now, and I shan't pay a penny of excess fare." "Won't they make you?" said Miss King. She realised that she had found an unexpectedly early opportunity of studying the peculiarities of the Irish character, and determined to make the most of it. "Certainly not," said the clergyman. "The position is this. I have a through ticket--I bought it yesterday--which entitles me to travel on this railway to Donard. If the doors of all the third-class carriages are locked when I arrive at the station, I take it that the company means me to travel first class. Their own action is a clear indication of their intention. There isn't a jury in Ireland would give it against me, even if the case came into court, which, of course, it won't." "I'm going to Donard, too," said Miss King. "Are you? It's a wretched hole of a place. I don't advise you to stop there long." "I'm not staying there at all. I'm driving straight on to Ballymoy." "If you're at all familiar with Ballymoy, I expect you've heard of me. My name's Meldon, the Reverend J. J. Meldon, B.A. I was curate of Ballymoy once, and everybody who was there in my time will be talking about me still. I'm going back there now for a holiday." "But I'm quite a stranger," said Miss King. "I've never been in Ballymoy." Meldon glanced at the bag which lay on the seat before her. There was no label on it, but it bore the initials M. K. in gold letters on its side. "I suppose," he said, "that you're not by any chance a sister or a niece of Major Kent's?" "No. I'm not. I don't even know Major Kent. My name is King. Millicent King." A clergyman is, necessarily, more or less educated. Mr. Meldon had proclaimed himself a bachelor of arts. It was natural to suppose that he would have known the name, even the real name, of a famous living novelist. Apparently he did not. Miss King felt a little disappointed. "I daresay," said Meldon, without showing any signs of being impressed, "that you're going to stop with the Resident Magistrate." "No," said Miss King decisively. "You don't look like the sort of person who'd be going on a visit to the rectory." Miss King was handsomely dressed. She appeared to be a lady of high fashion; not at all likely to be an inmate of the shabby little rectory at Ballymoy. She shook her head. Then, because she did not like being cross-questioned, she put an end to the conversation by opening her bag and taking out a bundle of typewritten papers. She was quite prepared to study Mr. Meldon as a type, but she saw no reason why Mr. Meldon should study her. He appeared to be filled with an ill-bred curiosity which she determined not to satisfy.