The two little ladies laughed merrily, and then suddenly grew serious and looked at each other, as if preparing for some pre-arranged announcement.

"My dears!" began Miss Jane, the spokeswoman, while Miss Mary nodded her head in solemn agreement.

"Mary and I have each been looking through certain of our old treasures to see if we could find anything suitable to give you for this happy occasion, and we have decided upon the two fans our uncle, General Alvers, gave to us for our first ball in Dublin. They are old-fashioned, perhaps, but they are very good and we hope you will value them for our sakes."

"Yes, that is it, sister," murmured Miss Mary; "we hope you will value them for our sakes."

"How good of you!" cried Paddy and Eileen together, and then Paddy flew straight at each little lady and hugged them both in turn. When she had released them, Miss Jane rose and went to a drawer, and took from it two parcels which she slowly began to unfold. At last, from enough tissue paper to have kept half a dozen fans in, she drew two beautiful hand-painted ivory ones, and presented them to the two girls.

"Oh! lovely! lovely!" and Paddy was almost beside herself. "But how can you bear to part with them!"

"Are you sure you would not rather lend them?" asked Eileen gently.

"No, my dear, Mary and I have thought it over, and we have decided it is folly to h.o.a.rd up pretty things that might be giving pleasure to someone we love. We had our time when we were young, and we were very happy, and loved pretty things as you do. Now it is your turn, and we must sit and look on."

"You seem to have been doing that always," exclaimed Paddy with a sudden burst, "just sitting and looking on at other people's happiness," while Eileen slipped a hand into little Miss Mary's with her slow sweet smile.

"Oh, no, my dear," Aunt Jane answered at once, "we had just as gay a time as you and Eileen when we were your age."

She paused.

"And then!" said Paddy, with half-veiled eagerness.

The two sisters looked at each other a moment, and then Miss Mary said a little nervously:

"Not just yet, sister. Some day, if they still care to know we will tell them, but not just yet."

Eileen pressed the hand in hers with silent sympathy, while warm-hearted Paddy took the opportunity to administer two more hugs in the middle of which Jack entered and claimed that it was his turn next.

"Look what aunties have given us," cried Paddy, ignoring his request.

"Their own beautiful fans that they had for their first ball."

Jack duly admired, and then asked what they were going to give him that they had worn at their first ball.

"Hadn't you two sashes!" asked Paddy of the little ladies; "he could wear one round his waist, and one for a tie, and just think how pleased he would be, and how he would strut about in the ball-room, like a dog with two tails."

"I'll strut you about in a few minutes," remarked the maligned one, "speaking of your elders and betters in that light fashion."

"Betters!" echoed Paddy scornfully. "Did you say _betters_?"

"I did, Madam. Do you mean to dispute it!"

"It is so utterly silly, it is hardly worth while," and then she ducked hastily to avoid the missile aimed at her head, and a second later they were flying round the room after each other.

Instantly there was a flutter of skirts, and the two little ladies were collecting breakables, while Miss Jane gasped to Eileen in a horror-struck voice:

"The fans, my dear! The fans!"

Eileen rescued the two heaps of tissue paper with their precious contents, and then held the door open for Paddy to fly out. The next moment they saw her scrambling over the wall between the two gardens, with Jack at her heels.

Eileen remained with the two little ladies, and presently they all went down to the beach together. Here they sat and worked, while Eileen read aloud to them, until they were disturbed by a footstep on the shingle and looked up to see Lawrence Blake approaching.

Instantly, in spite of herself, a crimson flush dyed Eileen's cheeks, and an anxious look pa.s.sed between the two little ladies.

Lawrence came up with his pleasantest smile, and greeted all alike with his polished charm, and though the two little ladies had long felt an instinctive mistrust of him, they could not but be impressed, and received him graciously. A boat was pulled up on the beach, beside where they were sitting, and with the same perfect ease, he seated himself upon it, and drew them into conversation. For one moment they made an effort to maintain a formal atmosphere; but since it pleased Lawrence to be gracious, they could no more resist him than anyone else, and almost before they knew it, they were deep in an eager discussion on the picture galleries of Europe.

At the most interesting part a maid from the Parsonage came to say they were wanted, and with real reluctance they rose to go.

Nevertheless, as they walked across the garden their faces grew serious.

"He talks wonderfully well," said Miss Mary at last, anxious to know what was in her sister's mind.

"Yes; wonderfully. He is no doubt an extremely cultured young man. And yet--" she paused.

"And yet?" asked Miss Mary.

"I cannot help it," answered Miss Jane gravely, "but there is something in his face that makes me distrust him. I--I think I wish he had never come back to Omeath."

"I wish so, too, sister," said Miss Mary, with like gravity. "I wish it very much;" then they pa.s.sed into the house.

Meanwhile Eileen sat on, and Lawrence leaned against the boat and looked into her beautiful eyes. He had a way of doing this that was vaguely a caress in itself, and that made poor Eileen's heart flutter almost fearfully, at the mere thought of all it, perhaps, involved. When he looked at her like that, it made no difference that he might be seated some little distance away, and their conversation of the most matter-of-fact order; the whole atmosphere was electric to her young ingenuousness. Lawrence might tell himself he meant no harm; and console himself at occasional uneasy moments with the reflection that he had uttered no word of love, nor drawn any nearer to her than was entirely circ.u.mspect; yet he, of all others, could not fail to know just what power of magnetism he was able to throw into a glance, and what inflection of unnamed tenderness could delicately colour his voice, though he spoke of only the most commonplace things. Had he not practiced the fine art half over the world; and quietly walked in to conquest, over the heads of far better looking and more attractive men.

Yet he remained unattached: a circ.u.mstance sufficiently dangerous in itself. Never in all these years had he gone one inch too far; never become more than lightly entangled; yet always a conqueror. The personality that imbued him to his finger-tips, coupled with a certain indifference, against which women who loved him flung themselves in vain, yet could not break away, had undoubtedly worked far more harm and misery than the honest, gay flirtations of many a more censured man.

Yet he had good points and could be lovable. Was it, perhaps, the age he lived in? the _blase_, free-thinking, free-living set he had become identified with, tipping the delicately adjusted balance to the wrong side. However, that might be, the hour had gone by when anyone could save Eileen; it must now be either radiant joy or heart-broken misery.

And meanwhile, into her beautiful eyes, noting also the delicately moulded form and exquisite skin, Lawrence looked that vague caress, with a willfully blind indifference to the future. He only knew that she was entrancingly fair to gaze upon; and he had not by any means suffered from the boredom he had antic.i.p.ated, before yielding to his mother's persuasions.

He chatted on a little while casually now, and then suddenly brought the colour flaming to her cheeks by saying, with a charming air of persuasion:

"If I am not too premature, Eileen, will you promise me the first dance, and the supper-dance on Thursday? I feel it's rather cheek asking you so soon; but I shall get so bored doing the host all the evening; I wanted to make quite sure of the two dances that matter the most."

Under the lowered lids her eyes shone. She had so hoped he would ask her for the supper-dance; the event of the evening at their merry dances, and yet had hardly dared to hope. Still, with an exquisite flush, she bantered him a little. "But you may change your mind by Thursday! It seems a long way off yet, and it would be so awkward for you if you did."

He laughed lightly. "I'll promise to tell you if I do, I'll go down on my knees and implore your pity and clemency, and your permission to ask someone else."

She laughed with him, and then he added, "Mind, I don't say I shall be content with those two only, but I daren't claim another now. Perhaps, if my duties as host allow me another opportunity, you will again be kind?"

She said nothing, but glanced away from him, feeling deliriously happy; and at the same moment Paddy emerged from the garden, with Jack and Ted Masterman, one on either side of her.

Lawrence got up at once. "Here comes your sister," he remarked, "with her usual train of admirers. If you will not mind making excuses for me, I will say good-by, as I have to ride on to Carlingford;" and he hurried away.

"Where's his august majesty off to, in such a hurry?" asked Paddy, as she came up. "I was just going to ask him to reserve the supper-dance for me, as I always like a supper-partner who thinks it is too much trouble to talk, and so leaves more time for eating."

"He had to ride on to Carlingford," said Eileen, rising, "so he asked me to excuse him to you. How do you do, Mr Masterman? I am glad to hear you are going to remain for the ball after all."

"Thank you," Ted answered heartily. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything, if I could possibly help it."

"Mr Masterman has just saved my life, or at any rate my beauty,"

remarked Paddy. "What do you think I ought to do?"

"How?" questioned Eileen.