GARRYOWEN 59 



masonry of youth and health had made the meal a 

 happy affair, despite the teapot with a broken 

 spout, the bad, sad, salt bacon, and the tea that 

 tasted Hke a decoction of mahogany shavings. 



It was Miss Grimshaw who proposed that as Mr 

 Dashwood was going to see his friend, and as she 

 was bound on the same errand, they might use 

 the same car. 



Moriarty, who was consulted, consented with 

 alacrity. 



" He's not turned up yet, miss," said Moriarty, 

 as he held the horse whilst Miss Grimshaw got on 

 the car. 



" I wonder what's become of him," said the girl, 

 settling the rug on her knees. 



" Faith, and I expect he's wonderin' that him- 

 self," said Moriarty, taking the reins; "unless 

 he's tuck a short cut across the country and landed 

 in a bog-hole." All of which was Greek to Mr 

 Dashwood. 



In the drawing-room of Drumgool House they 

 were now awaiting the arrival of Mr French. 



" I say," said Mr Dashwood, " I hope he is the 

 man I met in London." 



" I hope so too," said the girl, looking round 

 the quaint old room, with its pot-pourri vases, its 

 antimacassars, its furniture of a distant day. The 

 place smelt like an old valentine with a tinge of 

 must cUnging to it. Pretty women had once sat 

 here, had played on that rosewood piano whose 

 voice was like the voice of a harp in the bass, like 



