But presently the mood pa.s.sed and she was calmer, remembering all the responsibility on her shoulders.

"Don't forget you're an Irish Fusilier's daughter, Paddy," she admonished herself severely, "and you promised to be a good son. Irish Fusiliers' daughters don't cry like babies, just because everything seems to have gone wrong; and a good son is more sorry for his mother than himself."

A few minutes later there was a knock at her door, and the maid told her a gentleman had called to see her.

"A gentleman?" asked Paddy in surprise. "What is his name?"

"I'm afraid I didn't catch it," the maid answered. "It was a long name."

"Are you sure he asked for me?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"In the drawing-room. Mr Basil has gone out, and Mrs Adair is in the master's surgery."

Paddy smoothed her hair and bathed her eyes, feeling very curious, but when she walked into the drawing-room her visitor saw at a glance that she had been crying.

"Mr Masterman!" she exclaimed in glad surprise, and Ted came forward eagerly enough. After the first greetings, however, there was a slightly awkward pause.

"I only heard about everything last week," said Ted at last. "My aunt is a very bad correspondent. I need hardly say how her letter shocked me."

Paddy had motioned to him to take a chair, and sat down on the sofa; but Ted, being no less masterful than of old, and quite as certain as to his mind, sat down on the sofa beside her instead.

"I can't tell you just all I feel," he said, in that quiet, convincing way of his. "I wish I could, but I think you must know it has all been like a personal sorrow."

"You are very good," Paddy murmured gratefully. She was so glad to see him--he was like the first link from the old home since she parted from Jack at Holyhead.

"How did you know I was here!"

"I wired to my aunt for your address directly I received the letter. I wanted to call sooner, but was prevented by business. We have been kept late at the works every night for a week. I'm afraid this London arrangement will be very hard on you," he said, so kindly that Paddy felt the tears coming back.

"A little," she answered, trying to pull herself together, "but it won't be so bad when I'm used to it."

She tried to meet his eyes, but could not, and instead looked away, blinking hard.

"Poor little girl," said Ted in a very low voice, half to himself, and covered his eyes with his hand a moment, as if there was something in them he felt he must hide from her. She little knew how that pair of strong arms beside her ached to fold her tight, and take her away then and there from this London she so hated.

"I wish I could do something," he said at last. "It's hard to have to sit still, and feel as I feel, and see no way to help."

"You mustn't take it like that," trying to speak brightly. "Mother and Eileen will be here soon, and then it will be much better for me."

"What has become of O'Hara?" he asked. "Will you tell me all about everything?"

Paddy was only too glad to have someone who knew all about Omeath and The Ghan House, and she readily described all that had happened since he left. Ted listened quietly, leaning back a little, as once before, that he might the better watch her, with his own strong face in the shadow.

"It will be the making of him," was his comment when she came to Jack's plans, and Paddy agreed with alacrity.

When she had finished he looked at her, with a slightly wistful look in his grey eyes, and said:

"Now may I tell you about my affairs?"

"Yes, do."

"I'm following O'Hara's lead and leaving England," and he looked hard into her face.

"Leaving England!" she repeated, with frank dismay--indeed, far too frank for Ted, who was sufficiently wise in these matters to know that such a complete absence of self-consciousness left but little room for him to hope in.

"Yes," dropping his eyes gloomily to the carpet. "At once."

"I _am_ sorry," she said expressively. "Why do you go? What is happening to England that you and Jack and Lawrence Blake and everyone must all go abroad?"

"Lawrence Blake?" he asked, in some surprise.

Paddy coloured painfully.

"Yes, didn't you know? He went to India a month after the dance."

Ted watched her inquiringly, uncertain whether or not to ask a particular question.

Paddy settled the matter for him.

"It was rather a good thing," she said, trying to speak naturally. "He and Eileen were hovering on the brink of an engagement, and it would not have been a suitable match. He would never have made a girl like Eileen happy."

Ted drew his own conclusions, but all he said, was:

"O'Hara will get his chance now--lucky beggar," and then suddenly relapsed into thought, as it dawned upon him it might in the end mean his own chance, too.

"You have not told me why you are going abroad?" she said, after a pause.

"I am going to South Africa for the firm I am with."

"For good?"

"For several years, I expect."

"Why do you go?"

"Well, you see," he began slowly, "it's a very good opening for a man who wants to get on, and I want that even more now than I ever wanted it before." She waited, and he continued: "Engineering is rather overdone in England, and it's very hard work to get any kind of a real footing at all. The firm is opening a big, new branch in Africa, and they have offered me the managership. It is a very good thing, and I have accepted it."

"But still," reasoned Paddy, "you were all right as you were before."

He smiled a little.

"No, that's just it. I wasn't all right. You see, Miss Adair, there comes a time in a man's life when he suddenly wakes up to the fact that he'd desperately like a home of his own, and that makes him think more seriously of the pounds, shillings, and pence. I want my home to be right in the country, too," he added whimsically, half to himself, "if possible, where there are mountains and a loch and plenty of fishing and shooting."

Paddy said nothing, but she felt a queer little thrill all down her back. She turned her head away and stared hard into the glowing coals.

She knew his eyes were fixed searchingly on her face, but she would not look round, nor give him the chance to see the consciousness in her own.