The champagne had made her eyes very bright; there was a look in them that spoke to a dim memory in Larry’s cloudy mind.  She was still kneeling beside him, and as she prepared to rise, she rested one hand on his knee to help herself.  Larry put his hand on hers, and leaned forward.  Her brilliant, challenging face was very near his.  His memory cleared in a flash, and he thought of the night, long ago, when they had played at forfeits.

“‘My shoe buckle or my lips’?  Do you remember?” he said, with an unsteady laugh, answering the challenge.  “It’s my turn now—­which will you have?”

He did not wait for an answer, but looking straight into her eyes, he bent down and kissed her laughing, red lips.

The situation had not materially changed when Dr. Mangan’s large presence was suddenly developed at the end of the sofa.  He had come noiselessly in, and was surveying his daughter and guest with a benedictory smile.

“So that’s the way, is it?” he said quietly.

The hot dream that held Larry, melted and reeled a little.  He released Tishy from his enfolding arms, and wondered if he had better risk standing up.  He wished old Mangan hadn’t come bothering in.  He had only just begun to find out how much he liked Tishy.

But he stood up, and met the Doctor’s smile with a guilty and foolish grin, holding on with one hand to the end of the sofa.  Tishy continued to hold his other hand; he felt as if he should fall if she relinquished it.

“Well, I suppose I may draw my own conclusions from what I see?” went on the Big Doctor, in a voice that oozed fatherliness at every syllable.  “Eh, Larry?”

Larry swayed a little; his yellow hair was ruffled, his blue eyes shone, he looked like a child who had just been awakened.

“Oh quite so, sir,” he said, laughing.  “Apparently it’s the only thing to do!” which was indisputable.

The bottle of champagne which had played its part so ably was finished later on, and the engagement was ratified and celebrated with the pomp that was its due.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Miss Letitia Mangan was a young woman of dauntless courage, who, as has been said of the sect spoken of by detractors as The Black Prozbytarians, feared neither God nor divil.  To this rule there were, however, in Tishy’s case, two exceptions admitted, and of these, one was her father, the other Father Greer.  If, therefore, during the days that followed, when the streets of Cluhir were, as it were, mined with congratulations that exploded round her wherever and whenever she went abroad, any shade of doubt, any tenuous memory of the foxy devil back in Riverstown assailed her, she made haste to banish such with the thoughts of Father Greer’s pontifical approval, and of the warmth of the paternal sunshine that now shone upon her and her fiance.