The day wore away, and when dinner was announced, Browning had not returned. Sedgwick went with Grace to the sitting room and remained for a few minutes. Grace chided him upon being moody, and with all her caressing ways tried to exorcise the evil spirit that was upon him, but with poor success. Finally he asked her to excuse him, telling her he was absorbed in a little matter not strictly his own, which he would tell her all about after awhile. She listened, and when he had finished, she put her arms around his neck, and said: "You see when confidence is withheld from me, I become violently angry, and punish the culprit by going away." Then she kissed him, arose, backed to the door, reached behind her, opened it, passed out, then kissing her hand to him, closed the door. Sedgwick went out, and at once repaired to the hotel where Jordan stopped when in the city. He had been out of town following some whim, and Sedgwick had not seen him since Derby Day. Reaching the hotel, he learned that Jordan had returned, and soon found him. Jordan met him joyfully, explained why he had been away, that he was thinking all the way home from the Derby that if he remained he might be a burden to Sedgwick and his new friends; that the best thing to do was to take no chances, and so he had been making the tour of Ireland. Of that country he had much to say. "Yo' oughter go thar, Jim," he said. "Thar's a people wot ken look poverty in ther face 'nd laff it ter scorn; whar three squar meals a day ken be made on hope; whar wit grows on ther bushes; whar ther air ez filled with songs 'nd full hearts fill ther vacancy made by empty stomachs. It's ther most pathetic spot on earth, Jim. A race lives ther filled with energy and hope, a race as is generous and brave, 'nd warm-hearted, holdin' within 'em vitality enough ter found a dozen empires, but chained by poverty 'nd superstition, 'nd hate of the bruiser on this side of ther channel; nussin' impossible dreams 'ev a nationality which ther kentry couldn't support ef once obtained; proud ez Lucifer of a past which hez little in it 'cept wrong 'nd tyranny 'nd sufferin'; all ther exertions confined in a narrer groove, all ther work of no avail because uv indirection; clingin' ter homes which keeps 'em helpless 'nd only accomplishin' somethin' when transplanted to other fields, 'nd then carryin' on ther world's work, fiten' ther world's battles, sailin' ther world's ships, workin' ther world's mines, subduen' ther world's wildernesses, runnin' ther world's primaries, 'nd bein' ther world's perlicemen. I tell yo', Jim, it war pitiful.