She had never seen her father's picture, and her mother had given her the impression that their last days together had not been happy.

She had always felt that it was better not to inquire too closely into her father's life.
The years had gone on and then had come the happy visit to Loyland Towers, where she had met Dyck Calhoun.

Her life at that moment had been free from troublesome emotions; but since the time she had met Dyck at the top of the hill, a new set of feelings worked in her.
She was as bonny a lass as ever the old world produced--lithe, with a body like that of a boy, strong and pleasant of face, with a haunting beauty in the eyes, a majesty of the neck and chin, and a carriage which had made Michael Clones call her a queen.
She saw Dyck only as, a happy, wild son of the hilltop.

To her he was a man of mettle and worth, and irresponsible because he had been given no responsibility.

He was a country gentleman of Ireland, with all the interest and peril of the life of a country gentleman.
"Yes, we ought to go to Dublin, mother.