"Leave him to me," he said. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. As O'Higgins signed the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures.
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