‘And do you never doubt?’ she said.

’No, I can’t say I am given much to doubting, nor do I think the subject is any longer worthy of thought.  The world’s mind, after much anxiety, arrives at a conclusion, and what sages cannot determine in one age, a child is certain about in the next.  Thomas Aquinas was harassed with doubts regarding the possibility of old women flying through the air on broomsticks; nowadays were a man thus afflicted he would be surely a fit subject for Hanwell.  The world has lived through Christianity, as it has through a score of other things.  But I am afraid I shock you?’

’No, I don’t think you do; only I never heard anyone speak in that way before—­that is all.’

Here the conversation came to a pause, and soon after the presence of some ladies rendered its revival impossible.  Their evening gowns suggested the dinner-hour, and reminded Alice that she had to prepare herself for the meal.

All the Galway people, excepting the Honourable Misses Gore and the Scullys—­who had taken houses in town for the season—­dined at table d’hote. The Miss Duffys were, with the famous Bertha, the terror of the debutantes. The Brennans and the Goulds sat at the same table.  May, thinking of Fred, who had promised to come during the evening, leaned back in her chair, looking unutterably bored.  Under a window Sir Richard and Sir Charles were immersed in wine and discussion.  In earnest tones the latter deprecated the folly of indulging in country love; the former, his hand on the champagne bottle, hiccoughed, ’Mu—­ch better come up—­up Dub—­lin, yer know, my boy.  But look, look here; I know such a nice’—­a glance round, to make sure that no lady was within earshot; and the conversation lapsed into a still more confidential whisper.

Mr. Ryan and Mr. Lynch ate their dinner in sullen silence, and at the other end of the long table Mr. Adair—­whom it was now confidently stated Mr. Gladstone could not possibly get on without—­talked to Mr. Harding; and when the few dried oranges and tough grapes that constituted dessert had been tasted, the ladies got up, and in twos and threes retired to the ladies’ sitting-room.  They were followed by Lord Dungory, Mr. Adair, and Mr. Harding:  the other gentlemen—­the baronets and Messrs. Ryan and Lynch—­preferring smoke and drink to chatter and oblique glances in the direction of ankle-concealing skirts, went up to the billiardroom.  And the skirts, what an importance they took in the great sitting-room full of easy-chairs and Swiss scenery:  chalets, lakes, cascades, and chamois, painted on the light-coloured walls.  The big ottoman was swollen with bustled skirts; the little low seats around the fire disappeared under skirts; skirts were tucked away to hide the slippered feet, skirts were laid out along the sofas to show the elegance of the cut.  Then woolwork and circulating novels were produced, and the conversation turned on marriage.  Bertha being the only Dublin girl present, all were anxious to hear her speak; after a few introductory remarks, she began: