―O⁠ ⁠… O, good evening, Stephen.

He answered the greeting and saw a silly smile break over the face in the doorway.

―Do you want anything, Ellen? asked the old woman at the fire.

But she did not answer the question and said:

―I thought it was Josephine. I thought you were Josephine, Stephen.

And, repeating this several times, she fell to laughing feebly.

He was sitting in the midst of a children’s party at Harold’s Cross. His silent watchful manner had grown upon him and he took little part in the games. The children, wearing the spoils of their crackers, danced and romped noisily and, though he tried to share their merriment, he felt himself a gloomy figure amid the gay cocked hats and sunbonnets.