On the edge of this slope, at the top of the path, Nora is straining her eyes in the moonlight, watching for Larry.  At last she gives it up with a sob of impatience, and retreats to the hoary foot of the tower, where she sits down discouraged and cries a little.  Then she settles herself resignedly to wait, and hums a song—­not an Irish melody, but a hackneyed English drawing-room ballad of the season before last—­until some slight noise suggests a footstep, when she springs up eagerly and runs to the edge of the slope again.  Some moments of silence and suspense follow, broken by unmistakable footsteps.  She gives a little gasp as she sees a man approaching.

Nora.  Is that you, Larry? [Frightened a little] Who’s that?

[BROADBENT’s voice from below on the path].  Don’t be alarmed.

Nora.  Oh, what an English accent you’ve got!

Broadbent [rising into view] I must introduce myself—­

Nora [violently startled, retreating].  It’s not you!  Who are you? 
What do you want?

Broadbent [advancing].  I’m really so sorry to have alarmed you,
Miss Reilly.  My name is Broadbent.  Larry’s friend, you know.

Nora [chilled].  And has Mr Doyle not come with you?

Broadbent.  No.  I’ve come instead.  I hope I am not unwelcome.

Nora [deeply mortified].  I’m sorry Mr Doyle should have given you the trouble, I’m sure.

Broadbent.  You see, as a stranger and an Englishman, I thought it would be interesting to see the Round Tower by moonlight.

Nora.  Oh, you came to see the tower.  I thought—­[confused, trying to recover her manners] Oh, of course.  I was so startled—­It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?

Broadbent.  Lovely.  I must explain why Larry has not come himself.

Nora.  Why should he come?  He’s seen the tower often enough:  it’s no attraction to him. [Genteelly] An what do you think of Ireland, Mr Broadbent?  Have you ever been here before?

Broadbent.  Never.

Nora.  An how do you like it?

Broadbent [suddenly betraying a condition of extreme sentimentality].  I can hardly trust myself to say how much I like it.  The magic of this Irish scene, and—­I really don’t want to be personal, Miss Reilly; but the charm of your Irish voice—­

Nora [quite accustomed to gallantry, and attaching no seriousness whatever to it].  Oh, get along with you, Mr Broadbent!  You’re breaking your heart about me already, I daresay, after seeing me for two minutes in the dark.

Broadbent.  The voice is just as beautiful in the dark, you know.  Besides, I’ve heard a great deal about you from Larry.

Nora [with bitter indifference].  Have you now?  Well, that’s a great honor, I’m sure.

Broadbent.  I have looked forward to meeting you more than to anything else in Ireland.