She looked up at him and said indifferently: "It doesn't make the slightest bit of difference to me whether ye do or not. That's what I am. I'm a sow's ear."

He reasoned with her:

"When the strangeness wears off you'll be very happy."

"Do yez know the people here--the Chi-sters?"

"Oh, yes. Very well."

"Then what makes ye think I'll be happy among them?"

"Because you'll know that you're pleasing your father."

"But I'm all alone."

"You're among friends."

Peg shook her head and said bitterly: "No, I'm not. They may be me RELATIONS, but they're not me FRIENDS. They're ashamed of me."

"Oh, no!" interrupted Jerry.

"Oh, yes," contradicted Peg. "I tell ye they are ashamed of me. They sent me to the kitchen when I first came here. And now they put 'MICHAEL' to slape in the stable. I want ye to understand 'MICHAEL' is not used to that. He always sleeps with me father."

She was so unexpected that Jerry found himself on the verge of tears one moment, and the next something she would say, some odd look or quaint inflection would compel his laughter again. He had a mental picture of "MICHAEL," the pet of Peg's home, submitting to the indignity of companionship with mere horses. Small wonder he was snapping at Ethel's mare, when Jerry, discovered him.

He turned again to Peg and said:

"When they really get to know you, Miss O'Connell, they will be just as proud of you as your father is--as--I would be."

Peg looked at him in whimsical astonishment: "You'd be? Why should YOU be proud of ME?"

"I'd be more than proud if you'd look on me as your friend."

"A FRIEND is it?" cried Peg warily. "Sure I don't know who you are at all," and she drew away from him. She was on her guard. Peg made few friends. Friendship to her was not a thing to be lightly given or accepted. Why, this man, calling himself by the outlandish name of "Jerry," should walk in out of nowhere, and offer her his friendship, and expect her to jump at it, puzzled her. It also irritated her. Who WAS he?

Jerry explained:

"Oh, I can give you some very good references. For instance, I went to the same college as your cousin Alaric."

Peg looked at him in absolute disdain.

"Did ye?" she said. "Well, I'd mention that to very few people if I were you," and she walked away from him. He followed her.

"Don't you want me to be your friend?"

"Sure I don't know," Peg answered quickly. "I'm like the widdy's pig that was put into a rale bed to sleep. It nayther wanted it, nor it didn't want it. The pig had done without beds all its life, and it wasn't cryin' its heart out for the loss of somethin' it had never had and couldn't miss."

Jerry laughed heartily at the evident sincerity of the a.n.a.logy.

Peg looked straight at him: "I want to tell ye that's one thing that's in yer favour," she said.

"What is?" asked Jerry.

"Sure, laughter is not dead in you, as it is in every one else in this house."

Whilst Jerry was still laughing, Peg suddenly joined in with him and giving him a playful slap with the back of her hand, asked him:

"Who are ye at all?"

"No one in particular," answered Jerry between gasps.

"I can see that," said Peg candidly. "I mean what do ye do?"

"Everything a little and nothing really well," Jerry replied. "I was a soldier for a while: then I took a splash at doctoring: read law: civil-engineered in South America for a year: now I'm farming."

"Farming?" asked Peg incredulously.

"Yes. I'm a farmer."

Peg laughed as she looked at the well-cut clothes, the languid manner and easy poise.

"It must be mighty hard on the land and cattle to have YOU farmin'

them," she said.

"It is," and he too laughed again. "They resent my methods. I'm a new farmer."

"Faith ye must be."

"To sum up my career I can do a whole lot of things fairly well and none of them well enough to brag about."

"Just like me father," she said interestedly.

"You flatter me," he replied courteously.

Peg thought she detected a note of sarcasm. She turned on him fiercely:

"I know I do. There isn't a man in the whole wurrld like me father. Not a man in the wurrld. But he says he's a rollin' stone and they don't amount to much in a hard-hearted wurrld that's all for makin' dollars."

"Your father is right," agreed Jerry. "Money is the standard to-day and we're all valued by it."

"And he's got none," cried Peg. Thoughts were coming thick and fast through her little brain. To speak of her father was to want to be near him. And she wanted him there now for that polished, well-bred gentleman to see what a wonderful man he was. She suddenly said:

"Well, he's got me. I've had enough of this place. I'm goin' home now."

She started up the staircase leading to the Mauve Room.

Jerry called after her anxiously:

"No, no! Miss O'Connell. Don't go like that."