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“‘Where is Miss Lucy, Thompson?’ our hostess asked, sharply.

“‘I will inquire, ma’am,’ Thompson replied, with the utmost softness, and vanished.

“The scratching began again, the Irishman went on gently chatting, and it all felt very like a horrid dream. Then Thompson reappeared.

“‘Miss Lucy is out, ma’am.’

“‘Did she know what time these young ladies were to arrive?’

“‘Miss Lucy knew that the carriage had gone to meet them, ma’am.’

“‘Very thoughtless! Very thoughtless indeed!’ said the lady. Thompson paused respectfully, as if to receive the full weight of the remark, and then vanished noiselessly as before.

“There was an awkward pause. Our hostess left off scratching, and looked very cross; the Irishman fired one of his pellets across the room, and left off chatting, and the red-haired young lady got up, and rustled across to us. I remember her so well, Ida, for we fell deeply in love with her and her kindness. I remember her green and white dress. She had a fair round face, more pleasant than really pretty, a white starlike forehead, almost too firm a mouth, but a very gentle voice, at least, so we thought, when she said:

“‘As Lucy is out, may I take these young ladies to their room?’

“Our hostess hesitated, and murmured something about Bedford, who was the lady’s maid. The starlike forehead contracted, and the red-haired young lady said, rather emphatically:

“‘As Lucy is not in to receive her friends, I thought I might perhaps supply her place.’

“‘Well, my dear Kate, if you will be so kind,’ said our hostess, ‘I must finish these letters.’

“‘The yellow room?’ said the young lady, abruptly, and swept us off without further parley. The Irish gentleman opened the door for us, staring with a half-puzzled, half-amused look at the lofty air with which the young lady passed out. He followed us into the hall, where we left him discharging his remaining pellets at the furniture, and whistling ‘Kathleen Mavourneen,’ as clearly as a bird.

“The yellow room was a large airy one, with white painted wainscoting, a huge four-post bed with yellow curtains, and a pretty view from the windows. In the middle of the floor we saw our box standing in all its dignity, uncorded, and ready. Then it was the terrible fact broke upon our minds that the key was left behind. My sufferings during the few seconds before I found courage to confide this misfortune to our new friend were considerable. When I did tell her, the calmness and good nature with which she received the confession were both surprising and delightful.

“‘The lock doesn’t look a very uncommon one, she said, as she opened the door. ‘I dare say I may find a key to fit it.’

“‘What’s the matter?’ said a voice outside. It was the Irish gentleman. She explained.

“‘Keys?’ said the Irish gentleman; ‘got lots in my pocket, besides their being totally unnecessary, as I’m a capital hand at lock-picking. Let me see.’

“With which he slipped in, seeming quite as much at his ease as in the drawing-room, and in another second had squatted upon the floor before our box, where he seemed to be quite as comfortable as in the arm-chair he had left. Here he poked, and fitted, and whistled, and chatted without a pause.

“‘I’ve locks and keys to everything I possess’ he cheerfully remarked; ‘and as I never lock up anything, there’s no damage done if the keys are left behind, which is a good thing, you see, as I always leave everything everywhere.’

“‘Do you make a principle of it?’ asked the young lady, coldly.

“‘I’m afraid I make a practice of it.’ He had opened the box, and was leaning against the bed-post, with a roguish twinkle in his brown eyes, which faded, however, under the silent severity of the red-haired young lady, and gave place to a look of melancholy that might have melted granite, as he added:

“‘I’m all alone, you see, that’s what does it. I believe I’m the neatest creature breathing, if I’d only somebody to keep me up to it.’