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The next day the two young men were talking about going hunting and the Moon spoke to Scarface and said, "Go with my son where you like, but do not hunt near that big water. Do not let him go there. That is the home of great birds with long, sharp bills. They kill people. I have had many sons, but these birds have killed them all. Only Morning Star is left." Down from the cataract in the rocks above the water comes with a mighty will, foaming, glistening, shouting a loud triumphant paen as it flings itself into the arms of the vain brook beneath, that only yesterday-eve was a stream, but to-day may well be deemed a river. The duchess gives it up. "Yes, and a far better one, too," she says, amiably, declining to explain. Indeed, she is delighted to meet a young woman who actually regards slang as a foreign and unstudied language, and shrinks from being the first to help her to forget the English tongue. "Is there much beauty in Ireland?" she asks, presently..

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"Why?" demands her mistress, somewhat haughtily. "I suppose even the English gentleman, as you call him, can see butter with dying! Show him in at once." "No. Nor brothers. Only myself. "She had made up her mind that you would be insupportable, and she couldn't forgive you because you weren't," says that astute young man, with calm conviction. "Don't you be taken in, Mona." Lady Rodney regards him curiously, trying to read his downcast face. Has the foolish boy at last been brought to see a flaw in his idol of clay?.