"Do you imagine that _--_-- ?" "No.

I'd belave nothin' bad o' ye," says Mrs.Mulcahy solemnly.
"I've cared ye these six years, an' niver a fault to find.

But that child beyant, whin ye take her away to make her yer wife----" "You must be mad," says the professor, a strange, curious pang contracting his heart.

"I am not taking her away to---- I--I am taking her to my sister, who will receive her as a guest." "Mad!" repeats Mrs.Mulcahy furiously.

"Who's mad?
Faix," preparing to leave the room, "'tis yerself was born widout a grain o' sinse!" The meeting between Lady Baring and Perpetua is eminently satisfactory.