“No,” said the earl, “she is Irish.”

“The most dangerous of all,” remarked the cardinal.

“It is plain that you know women,” said the earl.

“I?” exclaimed the cardinal.  “No; nor any living man.”

“Her father.” resumed the earl, “was a great brewer in Dublin.  He made ripping stout.  Perhaps you use it.  It has a green label, with a bull’s head.  He kept straight all through the home-rule troubles, and he chipped in a lot for the Jubilee fund, and they made him Lord Vatsmore.  He died two years ago and left one child.  She is Lady Nora Daly.  She is waiting for me now in the Piazza.”

“Perhaps I am detaining you?” said the cardinal.

“By no means,” replied the earl.  “I don’t dare to go back just yet.  I met her first at home, last season.  I’ve followed her about like a spaniel ever since.  I started in for a lark, and now I’m in for keeps.  She has a peculiar way with her,” continued the earl, smoothing his hat; “one minute you think you are great chums and, the next, you wonder if you have ever been presented.”

“I recognize the Irish variety,” said the cardinal.

“She is here with her yacht,” continued the earl.  “Her aunt is with her.  The aunt is a good sort.  I am sure you would like her.”

“Doubtless,” said the cardinal, with a shrug; “but have you nothing more to say about the niece?”

“I followed her here,” continued the earl, his hands still busy with his hat, “and I’ve done my best.  Just now, in the Piazza, I asked her to marry me, and she laughed.  We went into St. Mark’s, and the lights and the music and the pictures and the perfume seemed to soften her.  ’Did you mean it?’ she said to me.  I told her I did.  ’Don’t speak to me for a little while,’ she said, ‘I want to think.’  That was strange, wasn’t it?”

“No,” said the cardinal, “I don’t think that was strange.  I think it was merely feminine.”

“We came out of the church,” continued the earl, “and I felt sure of her; but when we came into the Piazza and she saw the life of the place, the fountain playing, the banners flying, the pigeons wheeling, and heard the band, she began to laugh and chaff.  ‘Bobby,’ she said, suddenly, ‘did you mean it?’

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I meant it.’  She looked at me for a moment so fixedly that I began to think of the things I had done and which she had not done, of the gulf there was between us—­you understand?”

“Yes,” said the cardinal, “I understand—­that is, I can imagine.”

“And then,” continued the earl, “I ventured to look into her eyes, and she was laughing at me.