“It had one good result, I was never asked to hand things round again and was indeed never expected to put in an appearance until the tea-things were taken away.  I suffered for months for that silk dress.  My aunts got two yards of material and presented them to Mrs. O’Toole; and for weeks and weeks I got short allowance of butter to my bread and no sugar in my tea, and had to hear remarks as to the necessity for being economical.  As for Mrs. O’Toole she never forgave me, and was always saying spiteful things.  But I got even with her once.  One evening the doctor, who was her partner at whist, was called out, and I was ordered to take his place.  Now, I played a pretty good game at whist, better than the doctor did by a long chalk I flattered myself; but I didn’t often play at home unless I was wanted to make up a table, and very glad I was to get out of it, for the ill-temper of those old harridans when they lost was something fearful.

“It was only penny points, but if they had been playing for five pounds they couldn’t have taken it more to heart; and of course if I had the misfortune of being their partner they put it down entirely to my bad play.  Well, we held good cards, and at last we only wanted the odd trick to win.  I held the last trump.  Mrs. O’Toole was beaming as she led the best spade, and felt that the game was won.  I could not resist the temptation, but put my trump on her spade, led my small card, and the game was lost.  Mrs. O’Toole gave a scream and sank back in her chair almost fainting, and when she recovered her breath and her voice went on like a maniac, and had a desperate quarrel with my aunts.  I made my escape, and three days later, to my huge delight, was sent off to Dublin and entered the university.  I only stayed there about six months, when a friend of my father’s got me a commission; but that six months cured me of my shyness.”

“I am not surprised,” Desmond laughed; “it can only have been skin deep, I fancy, O’Connor.”

“I will give Conway his first lesson to-night,” the captain said.

Dancing had already begun when Captain O’Connor and Ralph drove up in a dog-cart to the Regans’, who lived some four miles from Ballyporrit.  O’Connor introduced Ralph to his host, and then hurried away.  In a short time he was deep in conversation with Miss Tabitha Regan, who was some years younger than her brother, and still believed herself to be quite a girl.  She was gorgeously arrayed with a plume of nodding feathers in her headdress.

“You are looking splendid to-night, Miss Regan,” O’Connor said in a tone of deep admiration.  “You do not give your nieces a chance.”

“Ah! you are flattering me, Captain O’Connor.”

“Not at all, Miss Regan; it’s quite a sensation you make.  My young friend Conway was tremendously struck with your appearance, and asked me who that splendid woman was.”  Which was true enough, except for the word “splendid;” for as they had walked through the room Ralph’s eyes had fallen upon her, and he had exclaimed in astonishment, “Who on earth is that woman, O’Connor?”