“She remembers her enemies, all right,” rejoined Bill Kirby, gloomily, “but she forgets her friends!  I know someone who hasn’t got any enemies to remember, but she’s just like Ireland in one way!”

“What way?” demanded Judith, “and who do you mean?”

“You know very well who I mean!  And the reason she is like Ireland is that she forgets her friends!  People who use to give her leads out hunting when she was a little girl and never forgot her!”

“In the first place, I deny it, and in the second place, serves them right if she does forget them,” replied Judith tranquilly; “I don’t know the injured beings you refer to but I do know my own family.  I take my eye off them for five minutes, and I come home to find they have not only forgotten my existence, but they have plunged into the heart of that appalling Cluhir crowd, and are indignant with me—­at least the boys and papa are—­because I don’t do the same!  Strange as it may appear, I like nice people!”

“I wasn’t talking of your family,” said Bill Kirby morosely, “Hang it all. I’m quite a nice person, and haven’t plunged into the heart of Cluhir, but it’s only by sort of accident, like this, that you will ever say a word to me!”

“You’d better insure against accidents of this kind!” said Judith, who was frankly enjoying herself; “and if you choose to renounce the charms of Cluhir, you needn’t make a virtue of it!  Perhaps they don’t want you!  They mayn’t realise what a nice person you are!  Would you like me to explain to Tishy Mangan—­”

Bill Kirby, who was possessed of good brown eyes and a profile like a handsome battle-axe, was a young man of no special intellectual gifts, but the sound judgment that distinguished him in the hunting-field was wont to stand his friend in other emergencies.  He was entirely aware that he was no match for Judith in debate, but he was also aware that deeds sometimes speak louder than words.  He attempted no spoken reply, but after a wary glance round the room, he permitted his large, brown hand to descend upon and envelop Judith’s, that rested on the sofa beside him.

“You know you’re talking rot,” he murmured, cautiously.  “No, don’t struggle.  If you say things like that, you’ve got to be punished.  Are you sorry?”

“Not in the least!” replied Judith, with an equal caution; “but you will be, soon!  Mrs. St. George is looking at you!” The battle-axe profile of Mr. Kirby betrayed no hint of the situation.

“Keep quiet, and say you’re sorry! I don’t mind sitting here all the afternoon—­like this,” he added, with a slight additional pressure.

“I shall count three,” said Judith suavely, “and then I shall ask you in a loud, clear voice to get me another cup of tea.  One—­”

Further developments of the situation need not be attempted, the more so as at this juncture the entrance of two uninvited guests caused a redistribution of seats, whose most marked feature was the creation of a desert space round the new arrivals and their hostess.