"Yes, I had some men there for a week. I could not take their
candles away, and put them to bed; could I, Lady Desmond?"

"And there were late suppers, and drinking of toasts, and headaches
in the morning, and breakfast at three o'clock, and gentlemen with
very pale faces when they appeared rather late at the meet--eh, Mr.
Fitzgerald?" And she held up one finger at him, as she upbraided him
with a smile. The smile was so sweet, so unlike her usual look;
that, to tell the truth, was often too sad and careworn for her age.

"Such things do happen, Lady Desmond."

"Ah, yes; they do happen. And with such a one as you, heaven knows I
do not begrudge the pleasure, if it were but now and then,--once
again and then done with. But you are too bright and too good for
such things to continue." And she took his hand and pressed it, as a
mother or a mother's dearest friend might have done. "It would so
grieve me to think that you should be even in danger of shipwreck.

"You will not be angry with me for taking this liberty?" she
continued.

"Angry! how could any man be angry for such kindness?"

"And you will think of what I say. I would not have you unsociable,
or morose, or inhospitable; but--"

"I understand, Lady Desmond; but when young men are together, one
cannot always control them."