Part 9 (1/2)

IV.

Margaret Byrne hurried her work through. The steamer that brought Dora had come in that day. Dora was met at Castle Garden by her aunt, and Margaret had got permission to go to see her in the evening. As Andy Doyle had to go the same way, he stopped for Maggie. All the way over to the aunt's house in Brooklyn he was moody and silent, the very opposite of a man going to meet his betrothed. Margaret was quiet, with the peace of one who has gained a victory. Her struggle was over. There was no more any danger that she should be betrayed into bearing off the affections of her sister's affianced lover.

Maggie greeted Dora affectionately, but Dora was like one distraught.

She held herself aloof from her sister, and still more from Andy, who, on his part, made a very poor show of affection.

”Well,” said Dora after a while, ”I s'pose you two people have been afther makin' love to one another for six months.”

”You hain't got any right to say that, Dora,” broke out Andy. ”Maggie's stood up fer you in a way you didn't more'n half desarve, and it's partly Maggie's money that brought you here. You know well enough what a--a--lie, if I must say it, you told me about Mag's havin' a beau at Larne, and she says she didn't. You're the one that took away your sister's----” But here he paused.

”Hush up, Andy!” broke in Margaret. ”You know I never keered fer you, or any other man. Don't you and Dora begin to quarrel now.”

Andy looked sullen, and Dora scared. At length Dora took speech timidly.

”Billy will be here in a minute.”

”Billy who?” asked Andy.

”Billy Caughey,” she answered. ”He came over in the same s.h.i.+p with me.”

”Oh, I s'pose you've been sparkin' with him ag'in! You pitched him over to take me----”

”No, I haven't been sparkin' with him, Andy; at least, not lately. He's my husband. We got married three months ago.”

”And didn't tell me?” said Andy, between pleasure and anger.

”No, we wanted to come over here, and we couldn't have come if it hadn't been for the money you sent.”

”Why, Dora, how mean you treated Andy!” broke out Margaret.

”I knew you'd take up for him,” said Dora pitifully, ”but what could I do, sure? You won't hurt Billy, now, will you, Andy? He's afeard of you.”

”Well,” said Andy, straightening up his fine form with a smile of relief, ”tell Billy that I wish him much j'y, and that I'll be afther thankin' him with all my heart the very first time I see him for the kindness he's afther doin' me. Good-night, Mrs. Billy Caughey, good luck to ye! As Mag says she don't keer fer me, I'll be after going home alone.” This last was said bitterly as he opened the door.

”O Andy! wait fer me--do!” said Margaret.

”Ain't you stayin' to see Billy?” asked Dora.

”Not me. It's with Andy Doyle I'm afther goin',” cried Margaret, with a lightness she had not known for a year.

And the two went out together.

The next evening Margaret told Sylvia about it, and the little romance-maker was in ecstasy.

”So you won't enter the sisterhood, then?” she said, when Margaret had finished.

”No, miss, I don't think I've got any vocation.”