I. When I was eighteen I was very much in love with a young fellow who
used to come to play croquet at our place. But my parents wouldn't
hear of it. I was not at all strong when I was a girl; they said I
wouldn't live, so I didn't care what became of me. Lord Seveley
admired me; it was a very good match, I was anxious to get away from
home, so I married him. You are quite wrong in supposing I treated him
badly."

"Forgive me, don't say any more about that."

"We had rows, it is true; he said horrible things about my mother, and
I wouldn't stand that, of course."

"What things?"

"Oh, I can't tell you--no matter. Once I said that I wouldn't have
married him only I thought I was going to die. He never forgave me
that. It was, I admit, a foolish thing to say."

At that moment the curtain came down, and the young men moved out of
the stalls. "There are two men I know," she said, fixing her glass.
"Do you see them? The elder of the two is Harding, the novelist, the
other is Mr. Fletcher, an Irishman."

"I know Fletcher--or, rather, I know of him. His father was a
shopkeeper in Gort, the nearest town to Mount Rorke Castle."

"He is a journalist, isn't he? I hear he is doing pretty well."

"In London, I know, you associate with that class, but in Ireland we