was fresh before her eyes as the cab jolted on to Palace Gardens.

"It would have been our pleasure constantly to have entertained you
during your mother's life-time," they had written, "but she wilfully
flouted our desires at her marriage and thereafter utterly ignored us.
The fault for the rift between us was of her making, not ours; we sent
her an Easter card one year, and had no reply; though we have no doubt
that your father, not that we would say a word against him now,
influenced her against her better judgment. However...."

She had written back a hysterical letter.

"Your letter came just after I had returned from burying my dear, dear
father, who worshipped my darling mother. If I were begging in the
street, starving, dying, I would not touch a crumb or a penny of
yours. You are wicked--yes, you are wicked to write to me as you have
written...."



VI.

She could not stay in Ireland. Her only friends there lived about the
dear home that was now no longer a home but a "desirable residence
with some acres of garden and paddock." Her only friends there were
friends who had been shared with Mother and Dad--whose presence now
would be constant reminder of that happy participation now lost. One
and all offered her hospitality, but she must refuse. "No, no silly
idea of being a burden to you, dear, dear Mrs. Sullivan--only I can't,
can't live anywhere near where we used to live."