only be a dowerless working-sister, not a teacher.  And for teaching, especially music-teaching, she felt she had a real gift.  By a natural transition arose the idea of becoming a music-teacher or a governess outside a Convent, and since her stay at home only helped to diminish her mother’s resources, she resolved to augment them by leaving her.  Family pride forbade the neighbourhood witnessing a deeper decline.  The O’Keeffes were still “the Quality”; it would be better to seek her fortunes outside Ireland and retain her prestige at home.  The dual existence would give relish and variety.

Eileen’s mind worked so quickly that she communicated these ideas to her mother, ere that patient lady had quite realised that never more would she say, “It’s your wife I am, Bagenal dear.”

“No, no, you are not to be going away,” cried Mrs. O’Keeffe, in alarm.

“Why wouldn’t I?” asked Eileen.

Mrs. O’Keeffe could not tell, but looked mysterious meanings.  This excited Eileen, so that the poor woman had no rest till she answered plainly, “Because, mavourneen, it’s married you are going to be, please the saints.”

“Married!  Me!”

“It was your father’s dying wish, God keep his soul.”

“But to whom?”

“You should be asking the priest how good he is.  Didn’t you notice that the chapel is being white-washed afresh and how clear the Angelus bell rings?  Not that it matters much to him, for he has lashings of money as well as a heart of gold.”

“Hasn’t he a name, too?”

“Don’t jump down my throat, Eileen darling.  I shouldn’t be thinking of O’Flanagan if your father—­”

“O’Flanagan!  Do you mean the man that bought our Castle at the auction?”

“And isn’t it beautifully repaired he’s having it for you?  He saw you when you were home for the holidays, and he asked us for your hand, all so humble, but your father told him he must wait till you came home for good.”

“O’Flanagan!” Eileen flicked him away with her thumb.  “A half-mounted gentleman like that.”

“Eileen aroon, beggars can’t be choosers.”

Eileen flushed all over her body.  “No more can beggars on horseback.”

“Your father will be sorry you take it like that, mavourneen.”  And the stout saint burst into tears.

Eileen winced.  She could almost have flung her arms round her mother and promised to think of it.  Suddenly she remembered Lieutenant Doherty.  How dared they tear her away from the man she loved!  They had not even consulted her.  She flicked her thumb agitatedly on the back of her mother’s chair.  Let her weep!  Did they want to sell her, to exchange her for a castle, as if she were a chess-piece?  The thought made her smile again.