When they left the inn, Waymark walked first with Ida, and Mr.
O'Gree followed with Sally. Egger brought up the rear; he had
relapsed into a dreamy mood, and his mind seemed occupied with
unearthly things.

With no little amusement Waymark had noted Sally's demeanour under
Mr. O'Gree's attentions. The girl had evidently made up her mind to
be absolutely proper. The Irishman's respectful delicacy was
something so new to her and so pleasant, and the question with her
was how she could sufficiently show her appreciation without at the
same time forfeiting his good opinion for becoming modesty. All so
new to her, accustomed to make an art of forwardness, and to school
herself in the endurance of brutality. She was constantly blushing
in the most unfeigned way at his neatly-turned little compliments,
and, when she spoke, did so with a pretty air of self-distrust which
sat quite charmingly on her. Fain, fain would O'Gree have proposed
to journey back to London by the same train, but good taste and good
sense prevailed with him. At the ticket-barrier there was a parting.

"How delightful it would be, Miss Fisher," said Mr. O'Gree, in
something like a whisper, "if this lucky chance happened again. If I
only knew when you were coming again, there's no telling but it
might."

Sally gave her hand, smiled, evidently wished to say something, but
ended by turning away and running after her companions.