listen."

The frown cleared from Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's forehead, and the peevish
lines went out of her face. She began to talk with animation and
excitement. Nora knew exactly what she was going to say. She had
heard the story so often; but, although she had heard it hundreds
and thousands of times, she was never tired of listening to the
history of a trim life of which she knew absolutely nothing. The
orderly, well-dressed servants, the punctual meals, the good and
abundant food, the nice dresses, the parties, the solid education,
the discipline so foreign to her own existence, all--all held their
proper fascination. But although she listened with delight to these
stories of a bygone time, she never envied her mother those periods
of prosperity. Such a life would have been a prison to her; so she
thought, although she never spoke her thought aloud.

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan began the old tale to-night, telling it with a
little more _verve_ even than usual. She ended at last with a
sigh.

"Oh, the beautiful old times!" she said.

"But you didn't know father then," answered Nora, a frown coming to
her brows, and an angry feeling for a moment visiting her warm
heart. "You didn't have father, nor Nora, nor Terry."

"Of course not, darling, and you make up for much; but, Nora dear,
although I love my husband and my children, I hate this country. I
hate it!"