O’Hara leaned back in his chair, and at the sight of her fresh prettiness his brow cleared and he smiled.

“Well, asthore?”

A reproachful finger was raised and a pair of red lips pouted adorably.

“Now, Miles, confess you’ve been vastly disagreeable this morning. Twice have I spoken to you and you’ve not troubled to answer me⁠—nay, let me finish! And once you growled at me like a nasty bear! Yes, sir, you did!”

“Did I now, Molly? ’Tis a surly brute you’re after thinking me, then? Troth, and I’ve been sore perplexed, me dear.”

Lady O’Hara got up and sidled round to him.

“Have you so, Miles?”

He flung an arm about her and drew her on to his knee.

“Sure, yes, Molly.”