Dainty had conceived an instant aversion to the coarse-mouthed, sly-looking Irish girl, so she answered, quietly: "You may bring me some flowers for my corsage--some of those pink roses I saw as we drove in--while I unpack the trunk myself." CHAPTER IV. THE OLD MONK. The ill-looking maid flounced away, thinking resentfully that the pretty young lady was afraid to trust her with her keys, while Dainty, whose only reason had been an unwillingness to expose her simple wardrobe, proceeded to lay out a gown for the evening--a delicately embroidered white cashmere that no one would have suspected had been cleverly made over from her mother's bridal _trousseau_. While she was dressing her hair with deft fingers, she was startled by a very unpleasant sound--a series of harsh, hacking coughs--seeming to proceed from the room next her own. She thought: "Some one is ill in there. What a terribly consumptive cough, poor soul!" Presently Sheila hurried in with a wealth of roses glistening with the fresh-fallen evening dew, and after thanking her, Dainty asked, curiously: "Is there some one ill in the next room?" "Shure, miss, there's nobuddy in the next room at all, at all, and not a sick crathur in the house. Why is it ye thought so?" "I heard some one coughing in there--a tight, hacking cough, like some one in the last stages of consumption," Dainty answered; and instantly Sheila Kelly crossed herself and looked furtively behind her like one pursued, muttering: "The saints preserve us! T' ould _monk_!" "The old monk, did you say? Who is he?" exclaimed Dainty, sharply; but the maid shook her head. "Don't ask _me_, _miss_, please--ask the young master about the _cough_ ye heard, and shure he will tell ye, darlint," returned Sheila, with a somewhat nervous giggle and a second furtive glance behind her, as she added: "Better hurry up, now; ye've only five minutes before dinner is announced, ye see." Dainty quickly pinned on a great bunch of the fragrant roses, and hurried down to the parlor, where she found the others waiting, Mrs. Ellsworth alone in an easy-chair, Olive and Love at the piano with Ela, who was playing the accompaniment for a sentimental song that Olive sang while Love turned the leaves. At dinner the hostess managed to separate Dainty and Love as widely as possible, and when they left the table, she pursued the same course, leading Dainty to a distant seat, saying: "Come and sit by me, dear. I have so many questions to ask you about your home and your mother; and I will tell you some interesting things about your papa's boyhood." Her step-son, pleased at her seeming interest in his beautiful love, and unwilling to interrupt the flow of their mutual confidences, permitted the two other girls to monopolize him the whole evening; so that when bed-time arrived, he had not had the chance of a single word, except the formal good-night.