No one moved. No one seemed to breathe. The stillness was awful. Nell felt as if she would shriek aloud. Then suddenly his eyes met hers; a little flush rose to his brow: "Early morning—the world gleaming green and wet through the blue haze—all the young things waking and stirring about you—" his voice rang out, musical, assured, and left Nell gasping. Dimly, with his talk of the stream glinting in the sunshine, the scent of the turf fires, there mingled in her ears—"names that still ring throughout all the lands—a grand and awe-inspiring age—the literature of that day—" and the result was bewildering. And then she was leaning forward, drinking it all in—for here was a bit of their old life—of Kilbrannan—home itself. Something caught in her throat, and for a moment Denis shone through a mist. Others were listening, too,—really listening,—absorbed, interested; grave and smiling by turns, as he willed. He stood there, before them all, unself-conscious, eager, making them see what he saw; and the words came without stumble or pause—easy, fluent, enthusiastic. It was just a bit of the old life he was showing them—a wild hunt made them laugh aloud; the peasants, the scenery, kept them absorbed; and when he stopped, there was a perfect storm of applause. The room fairly rang with it. He glanced swiftly, anxiously, at Nell, and then he bowed with all his own airy grace, again and again, laughing outright. One of the boys shouted out, "Encore!" There was only one speaker to come after Denis, and the unfortunate boy was received with yawns behind fans and barely concealed indifference. Of course Denis had won the Shakespeare. He received it in a storm of clapping. Everyone smiled on him and paid him compliments. Unabashed, he deftly returned them with interest to the ladies. The defeated boys nearly shook his arm out of its socket. Sheila Pat forgot, for the time being, her duties as Social Prompter, and went about informing everyone that she was Denis’s sister. "He doesn’t mind me pinching him a bit!" she said proudly. But she remembered her duty presently, and when Mr. Yovil was talking to Nell, down swooped Sheila Pat. "It’s not her turn! I think you’d better go and talk to the jingle lady now." He went, meek as a lamb. "Nell," said Denis, coming up to her a moment, "no, I won’t answer any questions." "But, Denis—" "I’ll tell you when we get home. I want you to be sweet to poor old Lancaster, Nell." She blushed guiltily. "I’d like to, but he won’t come near me, I’m afraid." "I’ll manage. Don’t you want some sandwiches?" "Awfully badly." "I’ll send him along with them. Mind," warningly, "that you’re nice to him." She grew hotter still. Presently Ted came to her. "O’Brien asked me to bring you these," he said stiffly. "Oh, thanks!" She dimpled at him charmingly. "Don’t you want anything to eat or drink? The coffee’s awfully good." "No, thanks." He stood a moment.