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 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL
 
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 (p. 49)
 
 THE FLY 
 ON THE WHEEL 
 
 By 
 KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 
 
 Author of "The Masquerader," 
 "The Gambler," "The Circle," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1908
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1907, 1908 
 By KATHERINE CECIL THURSTON 
 
 Published, September, 1908
 
 TO 
 
 NANCE 
 
 2138616
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was an April morning in the Irish town of Water- 
 ford ; beyond the suburbs, the grass lay thick and 
 green upon the country-side in the virgin freshness of 
 the spring, and the chestnuts glinted with the delicate 
 sheen of bursting leaves ; but in the streets the dust of 
 March was whirling to the April breeze, powdering the 
 narrow byways with a cloak of grey, eddying in a mad 
 dance along the open spaces. 
 
 Portion of this dusty, characteristic, sparsely popu- 
 lated town is dedicated to business the business of the 
 shops ; a second and more important portion of it is 
 given over to the quays, from whence a constant traffic 
 is carried on with the hereditary enemy, Engand; 
 while a third part, that holds itself aloof from com- 
 merce, is to be reckoned as half residential, half pro- 
 fessional. It is to this third quarter that the eye of 
 the story-seeker must turn on this April morning ; 
 for it is here, in Lady Lane, a thoroughfare as long 
 and narrow as a Continental street, composed of tall 
 old houses with square-paned windows and mysterious 
 hall doors giving entry to vast and rambling interiors 
 
 that the story, comedy or tragedy, is to find its 
 stage; here, in the dining-room of one of the flat- 
 fronted houses, that the student of human nature is to
 
 2 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 take his first glance at Stephen Carey hero, so far 
 as middle-class Irish life produces heroes, of the antici- 
 pated romance. 
 
 A man's room, one would have said at half a glance, 
 moreover, the room of a man self-made ! There was 
 no art, no beauty suggested or displayed ; but there 
 was comfort of a solid kind in the fire that burned 
 ruddily in the grate, and in the breakfast-table that 
 stood awaiting occupation. A man's room, although a 
 closed work-basket stood on the sideboard, and the 
 china on the table indicated breakfast for two. 
 
 And this first impression would have proved correct ; 
 for if the title of man be won by work, by patience, by 
 a spirit that holds firm in face of great odds, then 
 Carey's room was unquestionably the property of a 
 man ; for he had carved his own path to worldly suc- 
 cess, hewing it from the rough material by days of 
 toil and nights of thought. . 
 
 Carey was a type, a type of that middle class which 
 by right of strength has formed its huge republic, 
 and spread like a net over civilisation invincible, in- 
 dispensable as the vast machines from which it has 
 sucked its power. It is as parent of this new republic 
 that the nineteenth century will go down to futurity ; 
 and it is from the core of this new republic, virile in 
 its ambition, tyrannical in its moral code, jealous of 
 its hard-won supremacy, that we have garnered such 
 men as Carey the men of steel, drawn from the great 
 workshops, tempered, filed, polished to fit the appointed 
 place; helping to move the mighty engine of which
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 3 
 
 they are the atoms, useless if cast out from its mechan- 
 ism. 
 
 There is no corner of the civilised world over which 
 the ubiquitous army of this republic has not marched. 
 Even in countries where advance is slowest and change 
 most subtle in its inroads even in Ireland, where the 
 people still instinctively bend the knee to the fetish 
 of old name, and the aristocrats, dwindling year by 
 year, hug their pride the closer for decay this in- 
 vasion of the middle classes has become a fact raised 
 above denial. A century ago the rich Irish trader, 
 the manufacturer, even the lawyer or the doctor un- 
 less by chance he could produce a pedigree held 
 little place in the social scheme ; but to-day his grand- 
 daughters flaunt it with the best in the world of sport 
 and the vaster world of education. True, the entry 
 to these new pastures is through a gate that still stands 
 barely ajar and hangs upon rusty hinges, but there 
 is incentive in the thought of a forced passage, and 
 the constant sight of a social Mecca stirs this section 
 of a naturally indolent community to unprecedented 
 action. For this, the well-to-do shopkeeper gives his 
 son a profession ; for this, the successful doctor sends 
 his boys to an English university ; for this, the mother 
 of a large family stints and saves to educate her 
 daughters abroad. 
 
 It is not an exalted class: it is a class held together 
 by material ambitions and common ideals ; but it is 
 a section of society strong in its own narrow purpose 
 an outpost in the great progress.
 
 4 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 From this class Stephen Carey had come, as the new, 
 strong grass shoots up between the cobble-stones of an 
 ancient street. His story was that of many another 
 Irishman the story of a boyhood bred upon false con- 
 ceptions, and a youth called upon before its time to 
 grapple with realities. The eldest of seven brothers, 
 he was the son of a builder, a man of dogged, taciturn 
 nature who had risen from obscurity to a position of 
 consideration. Forty years ago, Barny Carey had 
 been a well-known figure in Waterford commercial 
 life, and there were few of the older business men who 
 could not still recall his large, pale face, his shock of 
 sandy hair, and the short, thick-set figure invariably 
 clothed in an ill-fitting frock-coat. But despite the 
 fact of a large acquaintance, not one among his fel- 
 low-townsmen could recall an intimacy with Barny ; 
 there had been something daunting in the man's re- 
 serve, something deterring in his proud, silent stub- 
 bornness that had precluded friendship ; and not even 
 the workmen by whose toil he had mounted the ladder 
 of success, or the sons in whom the core of his 
 heart centred, had known what it was to hold him in 
 affection. 
 
 Yet it was these sons these seven sons on whom 
 his whole inarticulate nature had bent and spent it- 
 self. There are always these chinks in the hard man's 
 armour, and it is the business of Fate to search them 
 out with cunning shafts. For himself, Barny Carey 
 had made no secret of the fact that he was a common 
 man, the son of a mason, trained in his youth to the
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 5 
 
 mason's trade ; he had accepted it as a thing defined, 
 and had made no move to alter or ignore it. But with 
 his sons it was to be a different matter. His sons were 
 to be gentlemen ! 
 
 This was his dream his dream as he had worked in 
 his office, his dream as he had watched his buildings 
 rising story upon story, monuments to his success. 
 Stephen Stephen, the first born was to be a lawyer ; 
 the law had always appealed to Barny as something 
 impressive and formidable, and his soul yearned to see 
 Stephen deal in justice as he himself had once dabbled 
 in mortar and bricks ; Joseph, the second son, was to 
 be a priest, for God had been generous to him, and he 
 must not grudge his offering to the church ; Tom, the 
 third, was to be an architect ; Barny, his namesake, 
 was to be a civil engineer; Maurice was to go into a 
 bank, and Patrick to sea ; while for Frank, the young- 
 est, there was but one possible career being a seventh 
 son, he must, in pursuance of time-honoured supersti- 
 tion, become a doctor. So he had lived in his schemes, 
 uncomprehended and unloved, meting out education 
 with a liberal hand ; and in due time Stephen had been 
 articled to a solicitor, Joseph had been sent to May- 
 nooth, and Tom had gone to Dublin to study for his 
 profession. 
 
 Then it had been, in the very weaving of the plot, 
 that the threads had tangled. The tale of how a busi- 
 ness, apparently impregnable, can be undermined by 
 any one of the contingencies that arise in commerce 
 is too long and too immaterial to the story in hand to
 
 6 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 be followed here. It must suffice that one bad year had 
 followed another, that money had become scarcer, that 
 Barny Carey had been forced to draw upon his re- 
 serves. At first his dogged nature had refused to see 
 facts as they really were; then the gravity of the 
 situation had forced itself home, and common- 
 sense had whispered that it would be wiser to re- 
 call Tom and put new blood into the business ; but 
 the old narrow pride that had become as the breath of 
 Barny's life had risen to scout the suggestion and so 
 had come the beginning of the end. 
 
 Money had been needed and still more money: he 
 might have borrowed, for his credit in Waterford was 
 good, but here again the stubbornness had been tyran- 
 nical. He had never gone into debt, and he would not 
 begin in his old age ! So in pride and silence he had 
 taken the infinitely more risky course he had de- 
 parted from his previous scheme of safe investment, 
 and had begun to speculate. 
 
 There is no need to describe the first plunge and the 
 first failure; the second plunge, necessitated by the 
 first, and in turn the second failure: it is depressing 
 in its commonness. All that really concerns is 
 that within two years Barny Carey died, broken by 
 secret anxieties; and that Stephen, just crossing the 
 threshold of life, woke from the imaginary position of 
 a rich man's heir to the reality of finding himself 
 guardian to six brothers, only one of whom was self- 
 supporting. 
 
 What Stephen did in that tremendous crisis, rather
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 7 
 
 what he did in the long toilsome years, when the ac- 
 tual crisis was passed and the daily burden was still 
 to be carried, is among the unwritten records of hero- 
 ism. In plain words, he worked as men only work in 
 such circumstances, garnering the spoils saved from 
 the wreck with a hand almost miserly in its rigid 
 severity, stinting himself to the point of penury that 
 his brothers might not turn back from their allotted 
 paths; and in his own career struggling, struggling 
 unceasingly, turning an impassive face to the slaps 
 of fortune, grasping unquestioningly at every help- 
 ing hand. Until now the story-seeker, looking into 
 his room at Lady Lane, finds a man of thirty-eight 
 a citizen with a wife and three children a solicitor 
 with a growing practice a matured controlled, suc- 
 cessful Stephen Carey, possessing but one responsibil- 
 ity remaining from the past Frank, the youngest 
 brother, the seventh son, still studying medicine in 
 Paris in fulfilment of Barny Carey's dream.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE hour of nine was proclaimed by a clock some- 
 where in the town ; and a moment after, the announce- 
 ment was made further patent by the cessation of a 
 dozen mass bells that, for a quarter of an hour, had 
 been chiming from north and south, east and west. 
 In this newly made silence the door of the empty din- 
 ing-room in Lady Lane opened slowly, to admit a ser- 
 vant carrying a tray of eatables for the prospective 
 breakfast. She entered the room in a leisurely, easy 
 fashion, moved forward to the table, and, still holding 
 the tray, allowed her eyes to wander to the window 
 and become riveted upon two errand-boys, who had de- 
 liberately set down their baskets to play a game of 
 marbles in the narrow roadway. With the calm ab- 
 sorption of the born idler, she would have remained in- 
 definitely rooted to the spot, regardless of the boiled 
 eggs and bacon that were fast growing cold, but that 
 the sound of steps in the hall outside brought her forci- 
 bly back to the realisation of duty. In obvious per- 
 turbation she twisted round, almost overbalancing the 
 tray ; then, with equal suddenness, she gave a little 
 gasp of relief. 
 
 "Gracious, ma'am, I thought you were the master!" 
 she explained. "I was just seein' how them boys of 
 Clery's do be idlin' their time. 'Tis a fright, surely !" 
 
 The person addressed was Mrs. Stephen Carey
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 9 
 
 Daisy Carey, blue-eyed, fair-haired, girlish in face 
 and figure, despite five years of domesticity and the 
 three babies in the nursery upstairs. She was attrac- 
 tive, distinctly attractive as she stepped into the room ; 
 but it was a passive attractiveness the sleek, unin- 
 spiring attractiveness of one whose days are full of 
 small concerns, and who is obviously content to shape 
 the future on the pattern of the past. Moving for- 
 ward to the breakfast-table, she seated herself in her 
 accustomed place, and picked up two envelopes that 
 lay upon her plate. 
 
 "Are these all the letters, Julia?" she asked. "I 
 thought I'd have got three." 
 
 "Them are all this mornin', ma'am, except the mas- 
 ter's. I took him up seven with his tea." 
 
 "Oh, well, put the things on the table! And, 
 Julia 
 
 "What, ma'am?" 
 
 "See that nurse gets her breakfast soon, will you? 
 Baby cried a lot last night, and she didn't get much 
 sleep. She must want a cup of tea." 
 
 "All right, ma'am! She can come down now; I'll 
 stop above with the children." 
 
 "Oh, will you ? That would be awfully good of you ! 
 Thanks very much !" 
 
 "Not at all, ma'am ! Why wouldn't I?" Julia set 
 down the breakfast things, paused to straighten her 
 cap, which always drooped a little to one side or the 
 other, and departed, closing the door behind her. 
 
 Left to herself, Daisy began to open her letters. The
 
 10 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 action was not very enthusiastic, for she knew by the 
 envelopes exactly where they came from, and could 
 even have hazarded a very shrewd guess as to what 
 each contained. One was from her aunt, the Reverend 
 Mother of a convent in the County Clare ; the other 
 was a bill from a local dressmaker. She opened the 
 former first, and, propping it against the sugar-bowl, 
 began to skim the thin sheets covered with close writ- 
 ing, while she mechanically poured herself out a cup 
 of tea and took an egg from the stand in the middle 
 of the table. But presently her attention wandered, 
 and her gaze, as Julia's had previously done, strayed 
 to the window, through which the shrill voices of the 
 boys came raised in dispute over their game. She 
 sat for a minute or two in idle, uninterested contempla- 
 tion ; then, as in the servant's case, her truant wits 
 were recalled by the sound of a step, and, turning 
 sharply round, she bent forward in a listening atti- 
 tude. 
 
 The steps drew nearer, and with the confirmation of 
 their sound she rose from her seat, moving so hastily 
 that the nun's letter fluttered down from its upright 
 position, and picking up a cover-dish that stood upon 
 the table, carried it across the room and set it in the 
 fender. 
 
 She was seated again, and apparently absorbed in 
 the dressmaker's bill, when the door opened and her 
 husband walked into the room. 
 
 There was nothing dramatic in Stephen Carey's en- 
 trance, nor was the man himself arresting by right
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 11 
 
 of mere personal appearance. In figure he was tall 
 beyond the average, but lean and a trifle ungainly; 
 and his face hard, strong, and clean-shaven was 
 too obviously the lawyer's face to lend itself to ex- 
 pression ; his mouth alone of all the features gave 
 promise of hidden emotions in its wide, thin-lipped 
 flexibility, and for the rest, a well-shaped nose that 
 broadened at the nostrils, a square jaw, and a crown 
 of rough red hair made up a rather commonplace ex- 
 terior. Yet, despite the lack of physical attractions, 
 the man was a personality. You felt it instantly he 
 came into a room, and, moreover, you felt that others 
 felt it. He was one of those beings to whom it is 
 given to claim consideration by a frown service by 
 a single word. As he came forward now, carrying 
 a bundle of open letters in his hand, his wife knew 
 without looking up that, for some unknown reason, his 
 anger had been roused ; and with a sense of uneasi- 
 ness, her mind sped over the possible household inci- 
 dents that might have annoyed him. The baby's crying- 
 last night ! Julia's habitual lateness in the filling of 
 his morning bath and the making of his morning tea ? 
 This dread of having displeased him was subtly 
 most subtly indicative of Carey's position in his own 
 house ; for though he rarely lost his temper, and still 
 more rarely gave proof of its loss, the whole house- 
 hold from Daisy herself to the little four-year-old 
 Ted, just beginning to form conclusions as to those 
 about him each and all were imbued with the dislike 
 of irritating him.
 
 12 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Five years ago, with the taking of this high-ceiled, 
 many-roomed house, Carey had faced the problem of 
 his marriage, for in middle-class Ireland the choos- 
 ing of a wife follows the making of a home by a nat- 
 ural sequence of events. It has been illustrated that 
 he was by necessity a practical man ; he was also a 
 man self-satisfying, and to a great extent self-cen- 
 tred; and when it came to a question of marriage, it 
 was scarcely to be expected that he would lose his heart 
 or even his head though neither was it to be expected 
 that he would choose carelessly. His idea of a wife 
 had the faint savour of Orientalism so frequently to 
 be found in his country and his class. A wife, in his 
 opinion, was useful possibly attractive as well, but 
 fundamentally useful ; a chattel, a being to be clothed 
 and fed and housed to the best of man's ability, but 
 beyond that hardly to be considered; and he had 
 looked round his little world much as the Eastern 
 might have studied the slave-market. 
 
 Age and ugliness, even when compensated for by 
 money, he had dismissed from his consideration with 
 the contempt of his race for physical disability, and 
 when at last his eye and his choice had fallen upon 
 Daisy Norris, the daughter of one of the richest men 
 in Waterford, it was not, as gossip had unanimously 
 held, entirely an affair of ducats ; there had been pride 
 in the matter, too, and a subconscious self-approba- 
 tion for Daisy had pretty blue eyes, pretty fair hair, 
 and was barely turned twenty. 
 
 The fruit of that attitude was visible now on this
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 13 
 
 spring morning, as he seated himself at breakfast ; for 
 Daisy, without a word, poured out his tea and pushed 
 the cup across the table, then rose again and carried 
 the cover-dish back from the fire. 
 
 "Will you have some bacon?" she asked in a low,, 
 pretty, rather mincing voice. "I was keeping it hot 
 for you !" 
 
 Carey looked up, as if seeing her for the first time ; 
 and in the light from the window the strong line of 
 his jaw showed prominently. "No!" he answered 
 shortly ; then his glance fell again to the letters in 
 his hand, and he burst suddenly into speech. "I de- 
 clare I'm sorry the children aren't girls, if this is the 
 return boys make you !" 
 
 "Is that from Paris? Is it from Frank?" 
 
 "Yes ! It is from Frank !" He answered her ques- 
 tion abruptly, in the deep masterful voice from which 
 he had never troubled to expel the native intonation. 
 
 "And what is it about?" 
 
 He ignored the words, and, with abrupt irrelevance, 
 rapped out a query of his own. 
 
 "How much did old Dan Costello leave his daugh- 
 ter?" 
 
 Surprise and behind the surprise, extreme curiosity 
 gleamed in Daisy's eyes, but she answered in the 
 native roundabout way. "Why, nothing, of course! 
 What would an accountant in a bank have to leave? 
 Don't we all know her aunt is supporting her?" 
 
 "And where is she now? The girl, I mean." 
 
 "Why here, in Waterford. She and the aunt came
 
 14 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 back from France on Monday. I know, because Mary 
 saw them both at the ten o'clock mass yesterday." 
 
 Carey gave a short sarcastic laugh. "Oh !" he said. 
 "Then I expect there isn't much we couldn't find out 
 about Miss Isabel Costello! I suppose Mary could 
 tell us the price of her gloves and the size of her 
 shoes." 
 
 Daisy said nothing; for it was a fact, testified to 
 by many a characteristic scene, that her unmarried 
 sister Mary and Stephen were actively antagonistic. 
 She felt no impulse to defend her absent relative ; in- 
 cidentally, because Mary Norris was so exceedingly 
 capable of defending herself, but particularly because 
 her curiosity was still aflame and prompting concil- 
 iatory action. For a while she remained silent, in the 
 hope that Carey would unburden himself without 
 prompting ; then at last, as the hope faded, she deli- 
 cately approached the subject. 
 
 "I wonder if Frank saw the Costellos at all, while 
 Miss Costello was taking Isabel away from school! 
 'Twas funny, their all being in Paris at the same 
 time !" 
 
 "Funny! I don't think I'd call it funny! Listen 
 to this!" Carey caught up the letter that he had 
 been brooding upon, and, without comment or ex- 
 planation, began to read aloud: 
 
 "DEAR STEPHEN, I write this because it's only fair 
 to tell you that, since you heard from me last, some- 
 thing very important has happened to me. I am en-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 15 
 
 gaged to be married! I suppose you know that old 
 Miss Costello of Waterf ord came over to Paris a fort- 
 night ago to take her niece home from a convent 
 school. Well, I came across her by the merest chance 
 the first day she was here ; and as she seemed rather 
 out of it with the language and one thing or another, 
 and as 'twas nice to see any familiar face I made 
 myself civil. The end of it all is that I've been going 
 about with her and her niece for the last ten days ; 
 and that Isabel and I have fallen in love with each 
 other, and have decided to get married as soon as ever 
 I can make a way for myself. Of course I expect you 
 will be awfully upset when first you read this, and 
 will think me an awful fool ; but don't answer too 
 soon, for I don't mean to spring it on you and I 
 think you'll understand when you see Isabel. Any 
 way, as I say, take time to think it over ! And don't 
 imagine I'm forgetting how much I'm in your debt 
 and always will be. Your affectionate brother, 
 
 "FRANK. 
 
 "P.S. Give my love to Daisy and the boys. I hope 
 she will be nice to Isabel ; it's dull for her living with 
 Miss Costello. 
 
 "P.P.S. Of course all this is strictly private. 
 
 "F. J. C." 
 
 Carey read the letter to the end without comment ; 
 then he rolled it into a ball and flung it across the 
 room into the fire.
 
 16 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "In love!" he ejaculated with biting contempt. "In 
 love !" 
 
 Daisy's eyes had remained wide open in the effort to 
 grasp, whole and entire, this astounding news ; now 
 her pretty mouth opened as well. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 Carey glanced at her. "Do ? Break the whole thing 
 off, like you'd lop a dead branch from a tree!" He 
 drew his cup toward him, swallowed some of his tea, 
 and, with absent-minded annoyance, helped himself to 
 some of the bacon he previously refused. 
 
 "Do you think it's for this I'm making a doctor of 
 liim?" he demanded after a moment, not especially of 
 his wife, but of the world in general. "Do you think 
 it's for this that I've saved him from sweating in some 
 Waterford office perhaps even standing behind a 
 counter?" 
 
 He was very angry when he alluded thus openly to 
 the monetary straits from which he had emerged ; and 
 outbursts of passion had not been frequent enough in 
 the five years of marriage to eliminate the slight, fas- 
 tidious shudder with which Daisy met the revelations. 
 She drew herself up now with a faintly affected move- 
 ment, indicative of her own superior refinement. 
 
 Carey caught the action. "Oh, it's all very well for 
 you !" he said, "but I can tell you, people like Frank, 
 who are dependent on others for their bread and but- 
 ter, had best see which side the butter is put on at. 
 A man with a position to make has nothing to do with 
 love. Love! Rot!"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 17 
 
 As the last expressive word left his lips, the door of 
 the dining-room opened again, this time to admit a 
 small, fair-haired girl in a neat tailor-made dress r 
 wearing a straw hat, and carrying a prayer-book un- 
 der her arm. 
 
 "Good-morrow, Daisy ! Good-morrow, Stephen [ 
 How awfully late you are !" With an absolute lack 
 of ceremony she came forward, threw her prayer-book 
 on the table, and began to pull off her gloves. 
 
 "I'm too early for the ten mass," she announced, 
 "so I thought I'd come in for a minute." 
 
 Daisy looked up. "How is father's cold?" 
 
 "Oh, gone, or as good as gone. He had a Turkish 
 bath last night." 
 
 Carey raised his head. "Frightfully dangerous for 
 a man with your father's weak heart." 
 
 Mary Norris sniffed disdainfully. "We'd all haVe 
 weak hearts if we had time for them. I'd have one 
 myself if I hadn't to do the housekeeping. Daisy, do 
 you know who I met while ago?" 
 
 "No. Who?" 
 
 "The Costello girl and the aunt!" 
 
 Daisy almost started. "Oh, Mary ! And did you 
 speak to them?" 
 
 "Speak to them? Of couse I did. I was simply dy- 
 ing to see her properly." 
 
 "Well, and what is she like? Do tell us!" In the 
 keenness of her interest Daisy pushed back her chair, 
 leaving her tea unfinished. 
 
 Mary waited a moment, with the lingering enjoy-
 
 18 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 ment of the adept in relating a piece of gossip. 
 ""Well," she said judiciously, "to begin with, she's 
 as different as anything from the lanky little thing 
 she used to be before she went to school. She's aw- 
 fully curious-looking, and yet she's awfully taking. 
 She has lovely teeth, and a queer sort of light in her 
 eyes, different from other people. Oh, and do you 
 know what?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "She's asked to the Fair Hill dance and she's go- 
 ing to come out at it ! I believe Mrs. Burke knew her 
 father long ago: the Costellos were a good family in 
 Wexford, you know, though they were as poor as 
 church mice. I wonder if she'll give Isabel a dress. 
 'Twould be a charity of she did, for I'm sure she has 
 to wear the aunt's old clothes." 
 
 Before she had finished, Daisy turned impulsively to 
 Carey. "Oh, Stephen, isn't that lovely! I'll see her 
 splendidly at Fair Hill." 
 
 Mary's sharp green eyes followed her sister's. 
 "Surely Stephen isn't interested in the dance?" 
 
 "No, Stephen is not interested," Carey replied, rising 
 from the table and walking across the room. At the 
 door he looked back. "Daisy, remember that that let- 
 ter is private." 
 
 Daisy said nothing; and as soon as he had disap- 
 peared into the hall, Mary came quickly round the 
 table and perched herself on the arm of her chair. 
 
 "What on earth is the matter with him?" she asked. 
 
 Daisy looked behind her with a certain furtiveness.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 19 
 
 "Wait a second and I'll tell you." 
 
 "It's all right. He'll be ages getting his coat." 
 
 "Well, you'll be most fearfully surprised!" 
 
 "What at? Do tell me!" 
 
 "Am not I telling you ? Oh, you will be surprised !" 
 
 "Go on, go on !" 
 
 "Stephen has had a letter from Frank, saying that 
 he met the Costellos in Paris." 
 
 "Good gracious ! And they never said a word about 
 him, though I told them I was coming in here !" 
 
 "Didn't they? That was deep!" 
 
 "Why deep?" 
 
 "Because Frank says " 
 
 "Oh, hurry !" 
 
 "I am hurrying ! It's you that keep on interrupting. 
 Frank met them ten days ago in Paris, and ever since 
 he's been with them morning, noon, and night; until 
 the end of the whole thing is that he has fallen head 
 over ears in love with Isabel Costello and actually 
 wants to marry her ! Now, what do you say to that ?" 
 
 Mary stared at her sister. "I never in all my life 
 heard anything to equal it !" She gave each word its 
 full and separate value. "Why, she hasn't a penny to 
 bless herself with !" 
 
 "Not a farthing." 
 
 "Stephen must be simply " 
 
 "Ssh! I hear him. Don't for your life pretend that 
 I told you." 
 
 Mary gave her a withering glance. "Do you think 
 I'm a fool, Daisy?" She picked up her gloves and
 
 20 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 prayer-book, and was sauntering slowly toward the 
 door when Carey entered. 
 
 "Hallp! Going?" he said. 
 
 "Only up to the nursery." She swung out of the 
 room, and they heard her run upstairs. 
 
 Carey advanced a few paces. His overcoat was on, 
 and he was carrying his hat in his hand. "Daisy," 
 he said, "have you answered that invitation of the 
 Burkes' yet?" 
 
 Daisy raised her eyebrows, for all social matters 
 usually lay within her undisputed demesne. "No. 
 Why?" 
 
 "I suppose I'm included in it?" 
 
 "Of course ! But they know you never go to dances." 
 
 Carey slowly buttoned up his coat. "I have been 
 thinking," he said ; "and it seems to me that it's very 
 little good tackling Frank until I've seen the girl. It's 
 the girl who must be squared first of all. I've thought 
 it out, and you may as well accept this invitation for 
 me as well as for yourself." 
 
 Once again in this morning of surprises Daisy's blue 
 eyes opened widely. "But, Stephen " she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 No answer was vouchsafed by Carey. Having given 
 his commands, it was not his way to justify them by 
 reasons. Without looking again at his wife, he passed 
 out of the room and down the hall; and a moment 
 after, the closing of the outer door announced to all 
 whom it might concern that the master spirit had 
 left the house.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A MATTER of small significance, one would say, that 
 a man should announce his intention of going to a 
 dance! But we are dealing with a small world. To 
 the ant a grain of sand represents an appreciable por- 
 tion of its own environment ; and in his family circle, 
 Carey's acceptance of Mrs. Michael Burke's invita- 
 tion made a definite stir of excitement. 
 
 The hall door had barely closed upon him when 
 Daisy had flown up the stairs to impart the news to her 
 sister ; and Mary, in the intervals of swinging the sec- 
 ond child, Francis, to and fro on the rocking-horse in 
 the nursery, had replied with the terse comment, "You 
 take my word for it, Daisy, he's got his back up!" 
 
 There had been a good deal of unvarnished truth in 
 this blunt sentence, for in her way Mary Norris was 
 a person of discernment. She shared with Daisy 
 indeed, with the whole female section of her set an 
 extraordinary and far-reaching curiosity; but with 
 her, inquisitiveness was supported by a moral courage 
 and an instinct for a secret so marked that mere love 
 of scandal was raised to a fine art. Women feared 
 her, and yet leaned upon her ; but men feared her and 
 fought shy of her, for there was a satirical humour 
 in her smile and a sharpness in her eye that made her 
 a very lively companion, but left you with an un- 
 comfortable suspicion that, having amused you at the
 
 22 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 expense of your neighbours, she only awaited your 
 departure to pillory you for the benefit of others. All 
 things are grist to the mill of such professed gossips 
 as Mary Norris the meanness of so-and-so's hus- 
 band, the neglected condition of so-and-so's children, 
 the terrible stories that so-and-so's servants have told 
 in their new situations. Petty and contemptible, per- 
 haps ! And yet for the class in which it thrives, this 
 network of scandal has a meaning and a result. Life 
 carried on under the microscope has a curiously re- 
 straining effect upon the units that compose it : by a 
 high moral standard you may influence the man whose 
 aims and ideals are already elevated, but by the whole- 
 some tonic of his fellow-man's criticism you touch 
 every class of human being. This knowledge that 
 other eyes are for ever peering into his holy of holies 
 is a factor to be reckoned with in the life of the Irish 
 townsman; and it may be a question for the sceptic 
 whether his indisputable moral integrity would flour- 
 ish as notably elsewhere as it does in its present re- 
 stricted atmosphere. 
 
 A fortnight went by, during which Stephen Carey 
 never once alluded to the coming festivity, and Daisy 
 lived in a ferment of excitement concerning her new 
 dress ; the question of whether she would have her 
 hair done at the hairdresser's or at home ; the continu- 
 ous speculations as to who had, or had not, been in- 
 cluded in the Burkes' invitation list. The actual mo- 
 ment of fruition when all doubts were to be set at 
 rest, all conjectures dissolved into certainty found
 
 23 
 
 the Lady Lane household in the usual excitement that 
 such an event provokes. Mary Norris, who was to 
 accompany the Careys to the dance, arrived with her 
 portmanteau at five o'clock, and retired at once to the 
 large back bedroom that was to be her property for 
 the night, and in which Daisy's new red dress was al- 
 ready laid out upon the bed, flanked by a pair of high- 
 heeled slippers, open-work stockings, and a fan, 
 for the sisters still retained the habit, borrowed from 
 their childish days, of dressing together for any note- 
 worthy entertainment. 
 
 Mary entered the room followed by Julia, and paused 
 at once to examine the finery. 
 
 "It's lovely, Miss Mary, isn't it?" Julia hazarded, 
 setting down the portmanteau. 
 
 Mary said nothing. 
 
 "The mistress is afraid 'tis the way 'twill be too 
 bright. But sure, as I was sayin', there's no tellin' 
 colours by gaslight !" 
 
 "No !" Mary agreed, mentally considering the effect 
 of the red next her own forget-me-not blue dress. 
 
 "Will you be havin' a cup of tea, Miss Mary? And 
 will I put a match to the fire?" 
 
 "Oh yes, do, Julia. I have to crimp my hair! But 
 I don't know about tea. What time will the mistress 
 be in?" 
 
 She took off her gloves, threw them on the table, and 
 began in a businesslike way to unpack her things. 
 
 "Oh, she can't be long now, miss. She's gone this 
 good while."
 
 24 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Julia knelt down before the fireplace, applied a 
 match to the sticks, and blew vigorously upon the 
 flame. " 'Tis the way this kindlin' is damp !" she 
 added to herself. "And sure I'm tired of tellin' 
 Bridget to put it over the range. Miss Mary, I sup- 
 pose 'twill be a grand ball?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, 'twill be a splendid dance. There are over 
 a hundred asked, and there's to be a band and a sit- 
 down supper. I hope 'twon't rain, though!" Mary 
 glanced anxiously towards the window as she drew her 
 dress from its wrappings. 
 
 "I suppose 'tis the garden you're thinkin' of? 
 There's a grand garden at Mr. Burke's." 
 
 Mary reddened. "Nonsense, Julia !" 
 
 But Julia had the privileges of eight years' service 
 in the Norris family, so she looked back over her 
 shoulder without perturbation. "Ah, go on, Miss 
 Mary ! Sure, 'tisn't dancin' the whole time you'd be 
 on a fine spring night like this !" 
 
 "Indeed, I hope it is, if I have partners." 
 
 Julia smiled knowingly to herself as she rose, previous 
 to departing ; then she made a sudden gesture of de- 
 lighted admiration, as she caught sight of the glories 
 of the blue dress. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Mary! But that's somethin' like! And 
 the lovely little silver bow-knots on the blue silk ! 'Tis 
 like a Blessed Virgin's altar, it is !" 
 
 "Yes, I think it's nice," Mary agreed, not quite cer- 
 tain that the simile was flattering; then she looked 
 quickly round, as the door behind her opened. "Oh,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 25 
 
 here's the mistress ! Well, Daisy, I'm waiting 
 ages !" 
 
 Daisy came into the room laden with little tissue- 
 paper parcels, which she deposited on a chair before 
 kissing her sister. "I'm just dead!" she announced. 
 "I tried five shops for a black aigrette for my hair, 
 and had to get a bit of tulle in the end. Waterford 
 is a terrible place! But what do you think of the 
 dress? Is it fearfully bright?" She twisted round 
 eagerly toward the bed. 
 
 "N-no." 
 
 "You think it looks brighter than it did at Mrs. 
 Walsh's yesterday?" 
 
 "Well, you can't even see yourself properly at 
 Walsh's, to say nothing about colours ! I don't know 
 why you go to such a dingy old hole." 
 
 "She cuts very well !" 
 
 "Not at all! That's your imagination." 
 
 "Indeed, it isn't ! You said yourself my brown was 
 the nicest dress I ever had. And anyway, Mary, I 
 think it's rather mean of you now, when it's too late, 
 to be making me dissatisfied. I suppose the dress is 
 awful !" Her voice trembled a little with a mingling 
 of disappointment, annoyance, and fatigue. "Per- 
 haps I'd better wear my old pink !" 
 
 "Don't be silly, Daisy !" 
 
 "I'm not silly! You'd be sillier if you were in my 
 place ! I don't think I'll go at all !" 
 
 Silence reigned after this announcement, while Mary 
 began to take down her long fair hair.
 
 26 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Lilly O'Farrell has a dress exactly the same colour 
 as yours!" Daisy announced at last. "I saw it yes- 
 terday at Walsh's." 
 
 Mary looked round, her mouth full of hairpins. 
 "I'm sure I don't care how many people have the same 
 coloured dress !" she said indistinctly. "I hate to be 
 remarkable !" 
 
 Daisy coloured at the thrust. "It's better to 
 be remarkable than dowdy. Julia, what are you 
 waiting for?" She turned suddenly on the 
 servant. 
 
 "Nothin', ma'am! Only to hear when you'll be 
 takin' your tea." 
 
 "Oh, bother tea ! I don't want any." 
 
 Mary hurriedly took the hairpins out of her mouth. 
 "Nonsense, Daisy ! Don't be absurd ! You know we'd 
 like tea unless, of course, you want to have dinner 
 with Stephen !" 
 
 "You know very well I'd hate to have dinner with 
 Stephen !" 
 
 "Well, for goodness' sake let us have the tea!" 
 
 Daisy's attitude relaxed a little. "All right ! Very 
 well!" 
 
 "And what'll we have?" 
 
 "Well, we could have some ham and there are 
 
 "That would be lovely ! Ham, Julia and cakes -- 
 and, Julia, don't forget the mustard !" 
 
 "All right, Miss Mary! And when will you be 
 wantin' it, ma'am?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 27 
 
 Daisy looked at her sister. "In half an hour?" she 
 suggested. 
 
 "Or now?" 
 
 The expressions on both their faces wavered, until 
 finally they laughed. "Very well !" Daisy said. "Now, 
 Julia, please!" 
 
 In silence they watched her go ; then Mary shook 
 out her long mane of hair and, taking up a crimping- 
 tongs, carried it to the fire and placed it between the 
 bars. 
 
 "I wonder who'll be there?" she said for the fiftieth 
 time. 
 
 "Owen Power will, anyway !" 
 
 Mary bent forward, and busied herself rather un- 
 necessarily over the position of the tongs. "How do 
 you know?" 
 
 "I met Josephine Power when I was trying Sheehy's 
 for the aigrette, and she told me Owen and Jim are 
 both going." 
 
 Mary took out the smoking tongs and, carrying it 
 to the dressing-table, began to pass it through her 
 hair. "A great condescension on Owen's part, I'm 
 sure ! Oh, bother ! I've singed my hair." 
 
 For a while Daisy remained silent, watching her 
 sister as she made a succession of journeys between 
 the table and the fire ; then at last, as Mary knelt down 
 once more before the hearth, she walked across the 
 room and suddenly put her arm about her shoulder. 
 
 "Polly, do you like him still?" 
 
 Mary turned and looked up at her, her face flushed
 
 28 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and half aggressive. "I'd be very sorry to trouble 
 myself about any man !" 
 
 "I know ! But, still " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Well, you know he likes you." 
 
 "Indeed I don't !" 
 
 "Nonsense! You know it right well. What about 
 the picnic at Woodstown in October? 'Twas ten 
 o'clock when you and he got back." 
 
 "Well, I had a puncture and we had to mend it." 
 
 They both laughed, but almost immediately Mary 
 became serious again. "I wonder if he'll ask me for 
 a dance, Daisy? 'Twill be so horrible if he doesn't." 
 
 Daisy's more malleable nature bent instantly to the 
 softer tone. "As if he wouldn't !" she said. 
 
 "Oh, it's never safe to be sure." 
 
 "Nonsense !" 
 
 Mary stared hard into the fire, as though the riddle 
 of her future was open and readable in the heart of the 
 coals. "Men are awfully queer, Daisy," she said at 
 length. "You can never be sure of a man." 
 
 "Nonsense ! All men marry, if they can afford to ; 
 and and if they like any one." 
 
 A frown of impatience crossed Mary's white fore- 
 head, and a little tinge of contempt lifted the corner 
 of her mouth. She shook back her hair, as if about 
 to retort with some scrap of the worldly wisdom she 
 had acquired, no one knew where ; but on the spur of 
 the moment her impulse changed. 
 
 "Ah, well !" she said. "'Twill be all the same in a 
 hundred years! Here's Julia and the tea!"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE dance was to begin at nine an hour unusually 
 late and fashionable for an Irish town ; and at half- 
 past eight the hired car that was to convey the Careys 
 to Fair Hill was already drawn up in Lady Lane. 
 
 It is a peculiarity of the town of Waterf ord that no 
 closed vehicle plies for hire in the streets ; so when 
 those of its inhabitants who are not blessed with car- 
 riages fare forth after dark on duty or on pleasure, 
 they resort by necessity to the livery stables, from 
 which issue vehicles that for the most cogent of rea- 
 sons avoid the searching eye of day. It may be a 
 brougham that answers to the demand a relic of 
 former glory, moth-eaten and tottering to its fall, or 
 a hansom-cab that has drifted like a piece of flotsam 
 from the sea of London life, or perhaps it may be a 
 "covered car" that can trace its antecedents to Lim- 
 erick or to Cork. To those who have not actually 
 travelled in such a vehicle, the name "covered car" is a 
 mere figure of speech, conveying nothing, and de- 
 manding definition: outwardly, it has the appearance 
 of a large square box, one end of which has been 
 knocked out and replaced by a low door, a step, and a 
 pair of funeral curtains ; inwardly, it is possessed of 
 two seats, upon which the passengers sit vis-a-vis, 
 clinging to straps that depend from the small win- 
 dows set like port-holes on either side of the driver's
 
 30 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 seat. A drive in a covered car is never likely to be 
 forgotten, for a haphazard abandonment of life and 
 limb marks it from the first moment to the last, when 
 by an ingenious movement of the jarvey the horse is 
 pulled round, vigorously backed, and the wheels of 
 the car collide with fearful violence against the kerb. 
 
 Such a conveyance Daisy and Mary found awaiting 
 them when they emerged from the house at a quarter 
 to nine, arrayed in long, light dust-coats and wear- 
 ing woollen wraps over their heads ; and immediately 
 the hall door was opened, the driver a disreputable 
 individual in a tall hat several sizes too large for him 
 and a coachman's coat from which most of the silver 
 buttons had disappeared hurried forward, thrusting 
 a lighted pipe into his pocket. 
 
 "Wait a minute, ma'am ! Wait a minute ! I'll back 
 her!" 
 
 "Oh, don't !" Mary cried. "Don't back at all ! We'll 
 get in as it is." 
 
 "Oh, sure, whatever you like, Miss Norris! 'Tis 
 equal to me. I'm on'y thinkin' of ye'er feet on the 
 muddy road though, after all, 'tis more dust than 
 mud it is." 
 
 Neither took any notice of this mixed statement, but 
 as hastily as possible beat past his dirty assisting 
 hand, and seated themselves high up under the win- 
 dows of the car, to protect their skirts as far as might 
 be from subsequent contact with Carey's feet. 
 
 "I feel awfully nervous !" Daisy announced, when at 
 last the driver had reluctantly returned to his horse's
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 31 
 
 head, to tie up a broken piece of harness. "I wonder 
 if my hair is straight ? I wish to goodness I had gone 
 to Davitt's after all. I'm sure it's hideous." 
 
 "Not at all ! It's all right !" Mary said without look- 
 ing at her. 
 
 "I wonder if I'll have any partners?" 
 
 "You will, of course! Anyway, it doesn't matter 
 to you. You're married." 
 
 Daisy turned round indignantly. "Oh, indeed, 
 doesn't it?" Then she paused, as Carey appeared in 
 the open doorway, and in the diversion of interest her 
 anger died. "How well Stephen looks in evening 
 dress !" she exclaimed involuntarily. 
 
 "That's a matter of taste." Mary stooped to gather 
 in her frills ; and as she raised her head, she added in 
 a louder voice, "For goodness' sake, Stephen, hurry ! 
 We won't get a single partner." 
 
 Carey came slowly across the pavement, buttoning 
 up his coat. "All right ! Go on now !" he called to the 
 driver, as he placed his foot on the step. 
 
 With his added weight, the shafts rose and the car 
 dropped back to what was its typical angle. 
 
 "Good heavens !" Mary exclaimed. "You're a fright- 
 ful weight !" 
 
 "Twelve stone ! Why aren't you sitting at the same 
 side?" 
 
 She looked at him with scorn. "On account of our 
 dresses, of course !" 
 
 Further controversy was cut short by the starting 
 of the car, which was accomplished by much noisy
 
 32 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 admonition from the driver and sundry backings and 
 false starts on the part of the horse, before they could 
 pass triumphantly down the street at a respectable 
 trot. For the first ten minutes a cramped and uncom- 
 fortable silence reigned; then at last, as they came 
 within appreciable distance of the steep ascent that 
 led to Fair Hill, Carey spoke again, moving his legs 
 painfully. 
 
 "Of all the abominable tortures man ever invented," 
 he said, "covered cars are the worst ! This decides me. 
 I'll have that motor of Leader's." 
 
 At the tremendous announcement Daisy jumped 
 round in her seat, forgetful even of her dress. "Oh, 
 Stephen, you don't mean it? Will you really? How 
 lovely ! How perfectly lovely ! I don't know how I'll 
 sit in it, the first day we go out; I'll be so terribly 
 proud!" 
 
 Mary lifted her chin. "They say it nearly beggared 
 Leader!" 
 
 "So much the, better for me ! He paid a thousand 
 for the car, and now he'll be glad to get four hundred 
 for it." 
 
 "Oh, but the buying isn't all ! Old Mr. Hayse told 
 me the other day, as a dead secret, that it costs him 
 five hundred a year, with petrol and repairs and 
 things." 
 
 "Well, old Hayse is as blind as a bat and drives at 
 fifty miles an hour. If you knew the compensation 
 cases I've settled for him out of court, you'd say five 
 hundred was doing it rather cheap. Here we are at
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 33 
 
 the hill ! I'll walk up, Daisy !" He opened the door 
 of the car without calling to the driver, and let him- 
 self out. 
 
 As the horse started forward in appreciation of the 
 lightened weight, Daisy thrust her head out of the 
 car. 
 
 "Stephen ! Stephen !" 
 
 "Yes! What?" 
 
 "You'll meet us at the door of the dancing-room?" 
 
 He assented, and stepped back to the side of the 
 road, as a large one-horse carriage, crowded to its 
 fullest extent, dashed proudly past the hired car ; and, 
 at the same moment, Mary caught Daisy's arm and 
 drew her back into the shadows. 
 
 "Don't hang out like that, Daisy! It looks so 
 badly !" 
 
 "Why? Whose car was it?" 
 
 "The Powers', of course! Didn't you see?" 
 
 When Carey's foot dropped from the step of the car 
 to the hard roadway, he drew a breath unmistakably 
 pregnant with relief. Whether the relief depended 
 entirely upon a release from a cramped position, or 
 whether it had for inspiration a subtler sense of loos- 
 ened bonds, it is for the psychologist to say. Certain 
 it is that he felt more free of outlook and more in- 
 dividually independent after Daisy's appeal had 
 melted into silence and Daisy's pretty anxious face 
 had been merged in the darkness of the car. Not 
 that he cherished an opinion of himself as a man
 
 34 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 shackled by matrimony ; nor that we, who would fol- 
 low his story, must think of him as such ! Love, and 
 the conditions engendered by love, had never loomed 
 large enough upon his horizon to be considered as 
 factors capable of mending or marring his existence. 
 His feelings, as he stiffened his shoulders to the as- 
 cent of the hill, were simply the feelings of a man 
 who has been freed from a position that wearied him, 
 and who, as a matter of reaction, turns with zest to 
 his personal concerns. A task awaited him to-night, 
 a task self -set and therefore acceptable ; and all 
 action even action so tame as that which he antici- 
 pated had its own incentive power. He reached the 
 summit of the hill almost as soon as the covered car ; 
 but, jealous of his stolen solitude, he did not follow 
 it up the avenue of chestnuts that glinted a faint 
 green against the April night sky, but paused outside 
 the gates to look back over Waterford, lying half- 
 veiled in vaporous fog. 
 
 The scene was eloquent, as are all Irish scenes 
 touched with an unnamed pathos, wrapped in that 
 mystery from which memory can draw such innumera- 
 ble and binding threads ; and as he looked down upon 
 the clustering roofs and pointing spires, he stepped 
 unthinkingly into that region of sentiment to which, 
 by right of birth, every Irishman holds a key, and into 
 which his feet turn instinctively the moment the rein 
 of self-restraint is loosed. 
 
 As in the windings of a dream, his mind sped back 
 over the years of his youth to the days when, as a
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 35 
 
 little red-haired boy, he had followed his father's 
 workmen up their scaffoldings, and had looked out 
 over this same city of roofs and spires, weaving with 
 a child's imagination picture upon picture of the 
 world beyond the confines that formed his home. The 
 subject of these pictures had always been the same, 
 always the wonderful, fabled world where name and 
 fortune awaited the adventurous. 
 
 But fate and time between them had clipped the 
 wings of the soaring dreams ; the boy, with his ugly, 
 clever little face and preternaturally observant eyes, 
 had slowly grown to manhood without sight of that 
 great Beyond: had slowly grown to manhood, and to 
 the conscious compromise with ambition that men of 
 his country and of his class are daily and yearly 
 driven to make. In Ireland, the bread of expediency 
 is the staff of life, and Stephen Carey had early seated 
 himself at the frugal board. If now, in these later 
 days, a ghost of the lost ambition ever glided behind 
 his chair, pointing a wavering hand towards the great 
 market-place of life, where the fountains flow to 
 quench all thirsts, only his eyes saw the passing of 
 the shade : none guessed that for a moment his achieve- 
 ments shrank to their true proportion, and the good 
 substantial bread became as ashes in his mouth. 
 
 Out of the vaporous mist the phantom rose with its 
 train of stifled hopes pressing up against him, whis- 
 pering inaudible words, proffering intangible em- 
 braces. But his mood to-night was aggressive rather 
 than depressed; he shook off the clinging presence,
 
 36 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and set his face towards reality, pictured by the long 
 line of budding trees and beyond them, by the large 
 square house ablaze with light. 
 
 The hall door of Fair Hill was hospitably open as 
 he drew level with the house, and he saw as on a stage 
 the lighted interior the fine square hall, built within 
 the last five years, and possessing not a fragment of 
 romance; the rugs of expensive texture and vivid 
 colouring; the palms standing upon ugly pedestals 
 of glazed pottery, each detail significant, each be- 
 traying in its own proportion the taste and the social 
 standing of Michael Burke, successful dealer in but- 
 ter, justice of the peace under the new regime, kindli- 
 est, most honest, least intellectual of men. 
 
 Burke himself passed across the lighted hall as Carey 
 mounted the steps, and paused to greet him. 
 
 "You're very fashionable, Stephen," he cried, "but 
 better late than never! Where are the ladies?" 
 
 "Oh, they're here ! I walked up the hill. How does 
 this sort of thing suit you ?" 
 
 Michael Burke made a comical face. "Well, to tell 
 the truth," he said, "there's great temptation in the 
 thought of my old pipe upstairs. But when the young 
 people begin to grow up, Stephen, faith, pipes and 
 the rest must go empty ! You'll be in the same boat 
 yourself some day, when you have three young men 
 waiting to be settled." 
 
 Carey laughed indulgently, for he liked Michael 
 Burke, with his odd turns of speech, his homely ways, 
 and sterling character. "I suppose so !" he agreed,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 37 
 
 "I suppose so, indeed! Where am I to leave my 
 coat?" 
 
 "Oh, upstairs ! Upstairs ! My little snuggery has 
 been turned inside-out for a dressing-room. Up with 
 you ! You know the way. There's the first dance be- 
 ginning, and Ellen will be wanting me ! Don't be long, 
 though !" With a nod and a friendly smile, the little 
 man disappeared through a velvet-draped doorway 
 into a room from which the first bars of a waltz were 
 floating out into the hall. 
 
 A very few minutes sufficed to relieve Carey of his 
 hat and coat, and presently he was back again in the 
 hall, following the direction his host had taken. The 
 dancing-room was already full of whirling couples 
 when he made his appearance ; and, pausing inside the 
 door, he was compelled to make one of a little group 
 of young men and girls who had hurried down from 
 the dressing-room at the first sound of the music, 
 but who were reserving themselves for the second 
 dance, while they criticised their fellow-guests. 
 
 One or two heads were turned as he appeared, and a 
 couple of youths muttered a diffident "Good-night, 
 Mr. Carey !" but the girls of the group scarcely no- 
 ticed him. In their world, the married man hardly 
 exists as an independent being, for he is a thing ap- 
 propriated, labelled, laid irrevocably on the shelf. For 
 the first few moments his presence had a damping ef- 
 fect, but very soon the animal spirits of the party rose 
 above the shy silence, and set them chattering again 
 like a band of sparrows.
 
 38 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I tell you what, though, she's awfully pretty!" 
 The man who spoke was Owen Power, a young bar- 
 rister of handsome face and consequential manners, 
 who paid periodical visits to his people in Waterford, 
 and who was supposed to bring with him from Dublin 
 an air of fashion and advancement not locally to be 
 acquired. 
 
 "Owen is struck!" put in a heavy youth, in a dull, 
 drawling voice. 
 
 "What'll somebody else say?" cried a girl of seven- 
 teen, with a dazzling complexion, and bright, im- 
 pertinent eyes. 
 
 "Shut up, Amy !" The heavy youth had a brother's 
 privileges, and used them ungallantly. 
 
 Amy laughed and tossed her head. "All right ! I'll 
 say nothing but I'll think the more !" 
 
 The brother growled something unintelligible, and 
 at the same time Power adjusted his pince-nez and 
 leant forward. 
 
 "Here she is ! And, I say, doesn't she dance !" 
 
 "Who is she dancing with?" 
 
 "I can't see." 
 
 "It's Willie Neville!" 
 
 "No, it isn't !" 
 
 "Yes it is, though!" The girls peered over each 
 other's shoulders in a fever of curiosity. 
 
 "I say !" Power cried again, "I say, doesn't she 
 dance! She puts me in mind of the Spanish dancer 
 we had in Dublin for a week last year." 
 
 "Oh, well, she's nearly foreign as it is !" Amy mur-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 39 
 
 mured. "Half the Wexford people have Spanish 
 blood. Here she is !" 
 
 The word "foreign" attracted Carey, who had been 
 absently trying to single out his wife's red dress in 
 the crowded room. It touched him to interest, and 
 instinctively he turned to find the object of the de- 
 scription. 
 
 Out of the heterogeneous crowd that twisted and 
 reversed and backed in a frenzy of energetic joy, his 
 eyes alighted upon one figure and remained arrested, 
 while in his mind Power's words found a sudden and 
 strenuous echo. She could dance! She certainly 
 could dance ! 
 
 By ordinary judgment, she was merely a girl of 
 twenty ; but in that moment she might have been a 
 flower swaying in the wind, a young animal stretching 
 itself to the sun, a bird in its first flight, anything 
 fresh from Nature's hand, pulsing with the delight 
 of living and knowing itself alive. She skimmed down 
 the room, unconscious of the partner whose arm en- 
 circled her ; she saw nothing beyond the stirring per- 
 spective of light and colour, heard nothing but the 
 swaying music of the waltz that swelled and faded in 
 waves of sound. She swept past the little group in 
 the doorway, totally unaware of its existence, and for 
 one instant Carey looked down into her face. But it 
 was only for an instant: immediately he drew back 
 against the wall, with a curious, half-shamed sense of 
 having looked upon something not meant for his gaze. 
 For the essence of womanhood, intimate and un-
 
 40 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 guarded, lay in the flushed cheeks, the half -closed eyes 
 and parted lips. 
 
 To rid himself of the sensation, he turned abruptly 
 to Power. "Who is that, Power?" he asked. "The 
 girl in white?" 
 
 Power answered with his eyes upon the retreating 
 couple. "That's old Miss Costello's niece just back 
 from school." 
 
 The last bars of the waltz crashed out, and a laugh- 
 ing, excited crowd made a rush for the door. Carey 
 stepped aside to let it pass ; and then slowly, as though 
 acting upon some half-formed thought, he walked 
 down the ballroom to where Mrs. Michael Burke was 
 holding a little court.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 VERY slowly Carey walked down the room to where a 
 group of twelve or fourteen elderly women, arrayed 
 in dark silk dresses and wearing lace caps, were gath- 
 ered about their hostess, closely observant of the scene 
 being enacted before them. Every guest in the ball- 
 room, with his or her genealogical tree, was accurately 
 known to each of these spectators, and a running fire 
 of comment and criticism kept pace with their vari- 
 ous actions. A little tremor of interest and curiosity 
 passed over the group when Carey's approach was 
 signalled, and glances of speculation were rapidly ex- 
 changed, heads brought closer together, and voices 
 discreetly lowered. 
 
 With a man's innate sensitiveness to observation, he 
 made haste to single out his hostess and shelter behind 
 her greeting. Not that he had any affection for Mrs. 
 Michael Burke ; on the contrary, it was a never-failing 
 source of wonder to him how kindly, commonplace 
 Michael could ever have chosen such a mate, for Mrs. 
 Burke was what, in her particular set, is known as 
 "very grand," which, literally translated, conveys the 
 impression of a vast and unlovable superiority of man- 
 ner, coupled with definite social ambitions. In his 
 feeling of vague dislike Carey shared a common opin- 
 ion, for not even Burke's own relations had ever, in 
 the twenty odd years of his married life, arrived at
 
 42 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the point of feeling at home with Mrs. Michael. Her 
 invitations to Fair Hill were never refused, for such 
 invitations implied a certain social distinction, but 
 the uncultured band of relatives never outgrew the 
 nervous sense of the hostess's critical eye, and a sigh 
 of relief invariably escaped them when the large iron 
 gates, aggressive in their prosperous coating of white 
 paint, clanged behind them and they were free to 
 breathe their own less rarefied air. 
 
 This same consciousness of cold criticism fell now 
 upon Carey as he clasped her long, thin hand, encased 
 in a well-fitting black kid glove, for her actions and 
 bearing could convey to a nicety the precise esteem in 
 which a guest was held. As the daughter of a bank 
 manager, she was obliged in the present instance to 
 look askance at Carey's antecedents, though, as the 
 wife of a successful trader, she granted him the meed 
 of praise due to his self-earned position. In his case, 
 circumstances balanced each other. He had been un- 
 fortunately brought up, but he had married well. 
 Her fingers closed round his with a certain degree 
 of cordiality, and her thin face relaxed into a smile. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Carey! I have just been talk- 
 ing to your wife ; she danced the first dance with my 
 cousin, Surgeon-Major Cusacke. He's stationed at 
 the Curragh, you know. Such a nice fellow ! I must 
 introduce you to each other." She spoke in a high, 
 clipped voice, from which the brogue had been care- 
 fully eliminated, a voice that, in its studied preci- 
 sion, had something in common with his wife's.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 43 
 
 The similarity struck Carey, flashing across his mind 
 with a slight, sharp contempt. Usually, he was not 
 a little proud of Daisy's social advantages, but this 
 reflection of them in a woman who was antagonistic 
 to him jarred upon his senses, still tingling from con- 
 tact with elemental things. Dropping Mrs. Burke's 
 hand, he answered quickly and indifferently. "Oh, 
 Cusacke ! I met him at the Tramore races last 
 year." 
 
 Mrs. Burke was sensible of the little slight, but she 
 prided herself on being a hostess and a woman of the 
 world; and, whatever her silent criticism of his man- 
 ners, she gave no outward expression of it. 
 
 "And what about yourself, Mr. Carey? Are you 
 going to play cards? Or can we persuade you to 
 dance? There are plenty of pretty girls here but 
 the men are always wanted." 
 
 Carey laughed. "Old married men like me?" 
 
 She smiled the chilly smile that was thought the es- 
 sence of good taste. "Oh, you mustn't be running 
 yourself down ! Let me find a partner for you. But, 
 of course, you know everybody here!" 
 
 "Indeed I don't! It makes me feel quite old seeing 
 all these children who were in the nursery in my danc- 
 ing days." 
 
 "What nonsense! There's nobody here you don't 
 know unless, perhaps, Dan Costello's daughter. 
 You remember the Costellos ? Dan was with my father 
 in the bank in Enniscorthy before he was moved 
 here."
 
 44 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember him. A dark, excitable little 
 man." 
 
 "Yes. The greatest fool that ever lived. If you 
 made a king of Dan Costello, he'd be begging in the 
 streets the week after! He hadn't a grain of sense." 
 
 "Who was it he married?" 
 
 "Don't you remember? He ran away with a Miss 
 Dysart of Derryvane. 'Twas the talk of the County 
 Wexford for a year after. Her father cut her off 
 without a penny; and, they say, she used to have to 
 turn Dan's old coats for herself when he was 
 done with them ! But all the Wexford people are 
 queer !" 
 
 Carey laughed. "And what about the girl?" 
 
 "Oh, Isabel! Isabel is pretty. Perhaps you saw 
 her, though. She was dancing the first dance." 
 
 "I saw her, yes !" He was careful to answer indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 "And what did you think of her? She's curious- 
 looking, isn't she?" 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 "Your wife and your sister-in-law admire her 
 greatly. I must introduce you to her. I wonder 
 where she's gone to !" 
 
 "She's half-way down the room, standing near the 
 door." Carey still kept his voice studiedly uncon- 
 cerned, for he dreaded Mrs. Michael Burke as we 
 dread all powerful influences, the workings of which 
 we do not understand. 
 
 "Oh, is she? We'll go and find her, then." She ex-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 45 
 
 cused herself to the nearest of the matrons, and sailed 
 down the room, with Carey following in her wake. 
 
 As they drew near to Isabel Costello, she was stand- 
 ing by the wall, the centre of a group of men, her 
 head thrown slightly backward, so that the light from 
 the chandeliers fell full upon her rounded chin, her 
 parted lips, and white, flawless teeth. More than 
 ever, she suggested the young animal stretching itself 
 to the warmth and comfort of the sun to the caresses 
 of life ; and this subtle, indescribable impression came 
 home to Carey interwoven with her physical being 
 lying like a shadow in the blackness of her hair, danc- 
 ing like a will-o'-the-wisp in her hazel eyes. 
 
 At the moment that they paused beside her, she was 
 holding up her programme, the pencil poised in her 
 hand, for dancing eyes roving from one man's face 
 to another, in transparent joy at the exercise of 
 power. "Well, I can't give it to you all!" she was 
 saying in a clear voice. "I can't give it to you all 
 unless I divide myself up into little bits ! And, even 
 then, only the person who got my feet would have a 
 good dance !" She laughed, once more displaying her 
 strong, white teeth. 
 
 "Isabel ! Here's somebody I want to introduce to 
 you!" 
 
 She turned at once at sound of Mrs. Burke's voice, 
 the laughter still on her lips. 
 
 "Mr. Carey ! Miss Costello ! And don't dance too 
 much, Isabel! Your aunt will be blaming me if you 
 look washed-out to-morrow."
 
 46 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 A flash of amusement shot irresistibly from the girl's 
 radiant eyes to Carey's, and involuntarily he re- 
 sponded to it, as he acknowledged the introduction; 
 but the opening bars of the next waltz came swinging 
 down the room as he bent his head, and before he 
 could speak the little group of men became clamorous 
 again. 
 
 "Well, Miss Costello, and who is to have the dance?" 
 
 "I asked first, you know !" 
 
 "Indeed, you didn't, Jack! 'Twas I! Wasn't it, 
 Miss Costello?" 
 
 "Well, I asked last. And the last shall be first, you 
 know !" Owen Power pushed his way to the front 
 with a confident smile. 
 
 Again Isabel looked from one face to the other. 
 "I tell you what I'll do !" she said suddenly. "I'll give 
 the dance to Mr. Carey and then none of you can be 
 jealous!" Like a flash she wheeled round upon 
 Stephen. 
 
 The demand in her glance was so strong, the whole 
 onslaught so sudden, that no thought of resistance 
 suggested itself to him. Without a word he stepped 
 forward and put his arm round her waist, swinging 
 her out into the circle of dancers that was rapidly 
 filling the room. 
 
 It was five years or more since he had danced, but 
 few Irishmen are awkward in an art that comes to 
 them more or less naturally. He guided her carefully 
 down the room, testing his powers, exercising his 
 memory, anxious not to do himself discredit ; then,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 47 
 
 as he gained the farther end, and passed the group of 
 matrons, the spirit of the moment suddenly entered 
 into him, as the music quickened and he felt the strong 
 supple body of his partner brace itself in response. 
 A thrill passed through him, dispersing a long 
 apathy ; his position and his responsibilities were mo- 
 mentarily submerged in the sense of sound and mo- 
 tion ; his arm instinctively tightened, drawing the girl 
 closer, and with one impulse they spun out into the 
 centre of the room. 
 
 For several minutes they danced in silence; then at 
 last they paused by the door where they had first met. 
 They looked at each other, and she gave a breathless 
 little laugh. 
 
 "How well you dance!" 
 
 "I don't ! 'Twas you made me." 
 
 She coloured with pleasure. "Do I dance well, 
 then?" 
 
 "Well? You dance wonderfully." 
 
 "I learnt at the convent in Paris from a French 
 teacher. We weren't supposed to learn waltzes, but 
 she taught me. There's nothing so heavenly as danc- 
 ing, is there?" 
 
 Carey looked at her, engrossed in some thought of 
 his own. 
 
 Her face changed and darkened. "But perhaps you 
 didn't enjoy it?" she added, swift as lightning in her 
 change of tone. 
 
 "Didn't I?" His eyes were still upon hers. 
 
 The blood rose quickly to her face, chasing away the
 
 48 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 shadows. "Then perhaps it's only that you're trying 
 to be nice to me, because it's my first dance?" 
 
 The tone of the voice, the utterance of the words, 
 were charged with unconscious coquetry. The sense 
 of exhilaration swept over Carey afresh, as though 
 her light fingers had lifted the dry record of his days 
 and her light breath had blown the dust from the 
 pages. 
 
 "Could I be nice even if I tried?" His tongue, un- 
 used to the tossing of words, brought out the question 
 awkwardly stupidly, it seemed to him ; and he looked 
 to see her lip curl. 
 
 But, so fine is the net by which fate snares, she liked 
 the embarrassment in his voice; she liked his evident 
 unfitness for the game of give and take. It was ex- 
 citing to put it to the test to step forward, sounding 
 his interest to retreat, daunted by the mystery that 
 shrouds the unknown personality. Her feminine in- 
 tuition recognised the essential the man in Carey, 
 and her feminine instinct rose to meet it. Premature 
 instinct, perhaps, in a girl of twenty ! But mentally, 
 as well as physically, the admixture of southern blood 
 was marked by early development. As her body 
 was built upon gracious lines, so her mind had 
 already flowered, where others lay folded in the 
 bud. 
 
 "You are nice even without trying." She felt her 
 pulses throb at her own daring, and the sensation was 
 delight. 
 
 Carey took a step forward. "You'll have to justify
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 49 
 
 that !" he said quickly. "You'll have to give me an- 
 other dance." 
 
 Without a word, she handed him her programme; 
 and as they bent over the little card, their heads close 
 together, their shoulders all but touching, she was 
 conscious that her heart was beating faster than it 
 had beaten all the evening, exciting though the even- 
 ing had been. 
 
 "Which would you like?" 
 
 "This!" He drew a line through a dance in the 
 middle of the programme. "And now, where will we 
 go?" 
 
 As he handed her back the card, some crashing 
 chords came down the room, indicating the end of the 
 second waltz, and in response, half a dozen couples 
 stopped at the door, and hurried out into the hall. 
 The first to halt were his sister-in-law, Mary, and 
 young Power; and as they passed, Mary's keen eyes 
 swept over his face and Isabel's. 
 
 "Daisy waited ten minutes for you !" she remarked 
 as she went by. 
 
 Isabel looked after her in surprise. "Mary Norris 
 didn't seem to know me !" 
 
 "Oh, you'll get used to that ! It's a habit of Mary's 
 to kiss people one day and cut them the next." 
 
 Isabel's surprise was turned upon him. His tone, 
 his expression, his bearing had all changed as if by 
 magic. He had drawn back into a shell of reserve, 
 as though in the moment of expansion some antago- 
 nistic influence had blown across his mind.
 
 50 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Let us get out of this crowd," he added in the same 
 curt voice. 
 
 In the hall and on the stairs some chattering girls 
 and their attendant youths had already found seats ; 
 but the hall door was open, offering a tempting view 
 of dark trees and deserted pathways. Carey paused 
 and looked towards it. 
 
 "I suppose you'd be afraid to go out?" 
 
 Isabel's momentary depression flared to excitement. 
 
 "Afraid? What would I be afraid of?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Wet feet, I suppose. All girls' 
 shoes are paper." 
 
 She withdrew her fingers from his arm, and, with 
 her head held high, led the way across the hall and 
 out on to the gravelled pathway. 
 
 A little titter of laughter came from the stairs ; she 
 heard it and stopped. 
 
 "Were those people laughing at me?" 
 
 "No. Why?" 
 
 "No reason. Only I could kill any one who laughed 
 at me !" 
 
 Carey looked at her through the darkness her 
 graceful figure bent slightly towards him, her muslin 
 skirt held high above her white satin slippers. "Do 
 you always have such fiery sentiments ?" he was drawn 
 to ask. 
 
 "Oh, I feel things, yes !" 
 
 "Then I'm afraid you're going to dislike me, Miss 
 Costello !" 
 
 There was no mistaking that his reason and his
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 51 
 
 will forced him to snatch this opportunity, while his 
 inclination stretched out detaining hands ; and when 
 such a conflict is waged in a man's mind, his expres- 
 sion is apt to be unnecessarily cold, his tone unneces- 
 sarily harsh. 
 
 At his words, Isabel's head went up again, with the 
 action of a young deer scenting danger. "Hate you? 
 Why?" 
 
 "Let us walk on, and I'll try to tell you !" 
 
 In silence they turned and passed down the avenue 
 she brimming with uneasy curiosity, he girding him- 
 self to the attack. 
 
 "Do you mind if I smoke?" 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 He took out a cigarette, and lighted it with the care 
 of a man whose thoughts are upon other matters ; then 
 he threw the lighted match away into the under- 
 growth, where it flared for a moment and went out 
 with a little splutter. 
 
 "Miss Costello, I had a letter the other day from 
 my brother Frank." 
 
 She stopped. "From Frank?" 
 
 "Yes. He wrote and told me." 
 
 "Told you ?" Her voice faltered. 
 
 "Yes. Told me that you and he are engaged." 
 
 "Oh," she cried naively, "and he never said a word 
 to me about having written ! I suppose he was afraid 
 you'd be angry. Were you angry?" 
 
 Carey tightened the buckles of his armour. "I was !" 
 he said. "Very angry."
 
 52 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And why?" Challenge and defiance leaped at him 
 suddenly. He could feel her nerves quiver to her 
 thought. 
 
 "Why? Oh, because a sensible man can't help being 
 angry when he sees an act of folly ; and this is folly, 
 you know utter folly." 
 
 Isabel's muslin dress slipped from her fingers and 
 trailed upon the ground. "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, because Frank has no money, no influence 
 nothing in the world that could justify his marrying." 
 
 She looked down. "I suppose it wouldn't be so bad 
 if the girl he wanted to marry had money of her own ?" 
 she asked in a very low voice. 
 
 Manlike, he walked into the trap. "It certainly 
 would make things more practicable." 
 
 In a flash she was round upon him again, her pride 
 and anger aflame, her sense of wounded dignity blaz- 
 ing in her eyes. "Oh, I see! I see! I'm not good 
 enough for your brother!" 
 
 Involuntarily he put out his hand. "I never said 
 that!" 
 
 She gave a sharp little laugh. "Didn't you? It 
 sounded very like it. I'm not good enough not rich 
 enough for him ! He must wait till he can make a bet- 
 ter match !" With a little gasp, her voice broke. 
 
 "But, my dear child " 
 
 "I'm not a child! I'm twenty and old enough to 
 manage my own affairs. And I can tell you one 
 thing ! I can tell you one thing, and that is that I'd 
 rather die now than break off my engagement! I'd
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 53 
 
 rather die now than break it off even if I didn't care 
 a pin for Frank!" 
 
 Carey looked at her passionate face, in which the 
 eyes gleamed black and bright ; and again he was 
 stirred, as though a current of electricity had coursed 
 along the rut of his commonplace life. 
 
 "Very well!" he said. "Then I suppose we declare 
 war? I have a will of my own, too, you know!" 
 
 She met his eyes, half curious, half amused. "Yes," 
 she said with defiant seriousness. "We do. We de- 
 clare war !" 
 
 He bent his head in acceptance of the defiance ; and, 
 without another word, turned on his heel and began 
 to walk slowly back towards the house, leaving her 
 to follow as she pleased. 
 
 There was no chivalry in the action ; it was a case 
 of the elemental man following his instinct. But all 
 human drama is built upon the primitive; and the 
 fewer the stage accessories, the sooner the arrival of 
 the psychological moment.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE noonday sun was streaming into Isabel Costello's 
 bedroom when she woke to the world on the day fol- 
 lowing the dance. Under ordinary conditions one 
 can comfortably lie abed in Waterford until ten 
 o'clock; and when a crushed muslin dress, a broken 
 fan, and satin slippers with soles worn shiny from 
 dancing, testify to a night of wild activity, there is 
 no limit to the thraldom of sleep. 
 
 She woke slowly, drawing in with each half-conscious 
 breath the confused, agreeable sense of something 
 vaguely exhilarating in the immediate past. Her first 
 action was to raise her arms above her head and lazily 
 stretch herself; her next, to sit up, shake back the 
 great plait of black hair that had fallen over her 
 shoulder, and look round the little room that still held 
 the unfamiliarity of new surroundings. The curtains 
 of the one window had been pulled back, and the 
 spring breeze blew in, carrying with it the scent of 
 wallflowers from the small front garden. There is 
 magic in the scent of wallflowers such magic as lies 
 in spices and cedarwood to call up pictures from 
 the treasure-house of imagination, and Isabel closed 
 her eyes to the ugly Victorian furniture that ham- 
 pered the little room, to the grey wallpaper that even 
 the sun could not fade into brightness, and in a mo- 
 ment she was skimming down the ballroom at Fair
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 55 
 
 Hill, tingling again with the joy of movement and 
 the intoxication of success. For this was her in- 
 heritance, her birthright this power to vibrate like 
 a fine instrument to every passing touch ; it was patent 
 in the flash of her smile in the sudden frown in the 
 threat and the caress that ousted each other continu- 
 ously in the depths of her eyes. She was Irish, but 
 Irish with the blood of Spain reliving in her veins 
 from a forgotten generation. And of such a com- 
 pound, what results? Throw oil upon water, and you 
 induce passivity ; cast it upon fire, and the flames 
 laugh back into your face ! She was a Celt in imag- 
 inativeness, in fatalism, in pride ; but in her reckless- 
 ness, in her vitality, there was the beat of warmer 
 blood the call of a race, more intense, more tem- 
 pestuous than Nature ever placed upon northern 
 shores. 
 
 Still drinking in the soft, moist air filled with the 
 subtle scent, she dropped back upon the pillows, lost 
 in retrospect ; then slowly and reluctantly her eyelids 
 lifted, as her quick ear caught a step on the corridor 
 outside. 
 
 A moment later, the handle of her door was turned, 
 and her aunt, Miss Costello, walked into the room, 
 carrying a tray on which rested some thick pieces of 
 bread and butter, a brown glazed teapot, a milk jug, 
 and a cup and saucer. She was a thin, dried-up lit- 
 tle woman of fifty-five, with a brown and prematurely 
 wrinkled skin, sharp black eyes, and wispy black hair. 
 In her case, the alien blood had run to asceticism and
 
 56 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 a nervous unpractical activity that had worn her out 
 before middle age. She came up to her niece's bed 
 now with a haste that suggested a multitude of af- 
 fairs claiming her attention, and set down the tray so 
 quickly that everything rattled. 
 
 "Well, Isabel! Good-morrow! What hour was it 
 at all when you got in?" 
 
 Isabel put up her mouth very graciously for her 
 aunt's kiss. When her nature was submerged in pleas- 
 ant or exciting recollection, she overflowed with affec- 
 tion towards the world at large. 
 
 " 'Twas five o'clock, Aunt Teresa." 
 
 "Five! What on earth were you doing till five? It 
 must have been broad day !" 
 
 " 'Twas, nearly !" Isabel laughed at the remembered 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Did you enjoy yourself?" 
 
 "Enjoy myself! I never in all my life enjoyed my- 
 self so much." 
 
 "And did you keep the car the whole time? I won- 
 der what sort of a bill Loughlan will make out !" 
 
 "The car? Oh, the car was there at two, but they 
 wouldn't hear of my going away. I came back with 
 the Powers." 
 
 Miss Costello looked impressed, and, drawing herself 
 up, smoothed the frill of the black alpaca apron she 
 always wore. 
 
 "Oh, indeed! The Powers! That was very nice 
 for you." 
 
 " 'Twas, in a way."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 57 
 
 "Indeed it was ! The Powers are very well off ; and 
 Mrs. Power is very good position. She was a daugh- 
 ter of Mr. Knox-Nash of Gallybanagher." 
 
 "So she told me while we were driving back ! But, 
 Aunt Teresa " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Do you know who I met last night?" 
 
 "No. Who?" 
 
 "Frank's brother." 
 
 "What ! Stephen Carey ! You don't say so ! Why, 
 I thought* he never went to parties." 
 
 Isabel's thick black eyelashes drooped over her eyes. 
 "Why shouldn't he go to parties?" 
 
 "Oh, because he's married and settled down." 
 
 "But he's not old." 
 
 "He's thirty-eight. Did he dance last night?" 
 
 "Of course he did! Why wouldn't he dance when 
 he's able to ?" Her eyes flashed up to her aunt's face. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know! Only a man with a wife and 
 three children has generally something better to do 
 than to be losing his night's sleep. Oh, but I forgot ! 
 There's a letter for you from Paris." She began to 
 search hastily in her apron pocket. "Ah, here 'tis ! 
 I knew I put it in !" 
 
 Isabel took the thin foreign envelope and laid it un- 
 opened on the tray. 
 
 Miss Costello's sharp eyes caught the movement. 
 "Why won't you read it?" she asked. 
 
 "There's time enough !" 
 
 "Oh, is that the way? In my young days, a girl
 
 58 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 didn't take a man's letters as coolly as that. But per- 
 haps I ought to go !" 
 
 Isabel flashed round upon her angrily. "As if I 
 ever thought of such a thing ! I know what's in the 
 letter, that's all. And when you know what's in a 
 letter you're not very excited to open it at least I'm 
 not!" 
 
 Her aunt's face looked disturbed. "Isabel, you don't 
 tell me you're getting tired of him?" 
 
 "I didn't tell you so." 
 
 "Well, I only hope your head wasn't turned last 
 night !" 
 
 "What on earth would turn my head?" 
 
 At her niece's darkening brow, Miss Costello was 
 thrown into nervous confusion. "My dear child, noth- 
 ing! Only I suppose you danced with all the young 
 men with with Owen Power and the rest of them." 
 
 Isabel laughed, her good-humour restored by the 
 absurdity of her aunt's idea. "Oh, no, Aunt Teresa ! 
 Mr. Power didn't turn my head. I don't like beauty 
 men. And, look! To please you, I'll open Frank's 
 letter!" With an incredibly swift turn of the fingers, 
 she tore the letter open and, before Miss Costello 
 could remonstrate, began to read it aloud. 
 
 "Listen, Aunt Teresa ! 'DEAREST ISABEL, Thanks 
 for your nice letter. I am still very lonesome, as you 
 can understand ; and I think of you every minute, and 
 wish all our walks and talks could come over again. 
 You are in my mind always. Do you often think of 
 me?
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 59 
 
 " 'I have written to my brother Stephen, telling him 
 about you, but I'm afraid he is not very well satisfied, 
 as I have not heard from him yet. Let me know if 
 you meet any of the family. It worries me a bit not 
 to know what they think ; but Stephen is a queer chap, 
 all for getting on in life, and not giving way to senti- 
 ment ' " 
 
 Isabel stopped suddenly in her reading. 
 
 "Is that all? I hope there'll be no unpleasantness 
 with the Careys." 
 
 "Oh, that's all! It goes on for ages in the same 
 sort of way. Aunt Teresa?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "What has Daisy Norris grown up like? I didn't 
 see her last night." 
 
 "Daisy Norris! Oh, she's pretty and, of course, 
 she's rich." 
 
 "Rich !" Isabel tossed her head. "As if that mat- 
 tered !" 
 
 "It mattered a good deal to Stephen Carey." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, because he had a hard enough life of it in the 
 beginning. Many a time his brothers would have 
 been in the workhouse only for the way he slaved. 
 Your poor father knew it through the bank." 
 
 "And he married Daisy Norris for her money?" 
 
 Miss Costello looked shocked. No Irishwoman likes 
 her insinuations put into blunt speech. "I wouldn't 
 say that to anybody, Isabel, if I were you. There's 
 no doubt, of course, that Daisy's money wasn't in his
 
 60 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 way ; but, all the same, 'tis an ugly thing to be saying 
 about any man, that he married for money." 
 
 "Well, was he in love with her?" 
 
 "Oh, how do I know? I suppose he was. 'Tis hard 
 to say those things." 
 
 "And was she satisfied?" 
 
 "How satisfied?" 
 
 "Satisfied with that sort of a bargain? I know I 
 wouldn't be." 
 
 Miss Costello looked at her niece with that half -pa- 
 thetic perplexity that the old so often bring to bear 
 upon their study of the young. In the long tale of 
 years that had made up her own life she could find no 
 key to the nature that looked at her from Isabel's 
 restless eyes. 
 
 "I can't make you out, Isabel!" she said at 
 length. 
 
 Isabel turned on her side, and the plait of black hair 
 fell again over her shoulder. "What I mean, Aunt 
 Teresa, is that if I was rich, and was going to marry 
 a man like Mr. Carey, I'd take very good care that he 
 didn't marry me for my money alone." 
 
 Miss Costello smiled uncertainly. "Would you in- 
 deed? And how would you manage it?" 
 
 "Oh, I can't tell how, but I would !" Her eyes turned 
 to the window, and then flashed back again. "What 
 a fool she must have been !" she added suddenly ; then, 
 seeing her aunt's shocked face, she put up her hand in 
 a pretty gesture of deprecation. 
 
 "Auntie! Auntie! Don't look so shocked! It's
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 61 
 
 only that I like fighting for things, and I can't imag- 
 ine other people not liking it too." 
 
 A look akin to horror tightened Miss Costello's thin 
 lips. "Don't, Isabel, dear ! 'Tisn't right to be say- 
 ing things like that. Girls in Waterford don't talk 
 like that." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Well, it wouldn't be thought nice. You'd get the 
 name of being odd." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 The repetition stung Miss Costello to annoyance. 
 "Ah, don't be silly, child! You know very well that 
 a girl must do what other people do 'specially if 
 she has no money. Saying queer things is nearly as 
 bad as doing them. If you want to make nice friends, 
 and be taken up by people richer and in better so- 
 ciety than yourself, you'll have to be particular." 
 
 "I don't care whether people take me up or not. I'm 
 poor, I know ; but I'm not a beggar to be patronised." 
 
 "Ah, there you are again ! Running away with 
 every word I utter ! I never said you were a beggar. 
 I don't know where you get such ugly words." 
 
 "Well, they're true words, aren't they?" 
 
 "Maybe! But it won't always be enough for you 
 that things are true. I tell you people here have a 
 certain notion of what other people ought to be, and 
 if you differ from that, they just leave you where 
 you are." 
 
 Isabel considered this statement. This, then, was 
 what she had returned to from the long probation of
 
 62 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 school life, first in Dublin and later in Paris! This 
 weighing of words ! This bondage in a free world ! 
 Her restless spirit rose up, swiftly antagonistic and 
 rebellious. 
 
 "Aunt Teresa, I'll never do it !" she exclaimed. "I'll 
 never never do it ! I can't cut out my life on a sort 
 of pattern. It must be what I want it to be, or noth- 
 ing at all. Oh, I wish I had died last night! The 
 world is horrid the day after things !" She put her 
 hands over her face in an impulse of despair as sud- 
 den and real as her excitement had been. 
 
 Miss Costello looked frightened and flurried. Life 
 had presented a new and unwelcome problem in this 
 grown-up niece, and she shrank constitutionally from 
 responsibility. 
 
 "Isabel, dear! Isabel, dear don't!" she said help- 
 lessly. "That's not the way to be looking at things 
 at all. Say a prayer to Saint Philomena to help you 
 to be sensible ! Be a good child now, and say a little 
 prayer !" 
 
 Isabel dropped her hands, showing a flushed and de- 
 fiant face. "I'm not a child, Aunt Teresa ! And I've 
 given up Saint Philomena: she never does anything 
 for me now." She almost trembled at her own temerity 
 as she made the statement, for veneration of the saints 
 and firm belief in their friendly intercession is the 
 very breath of life in such places as convent schools ; 
 and, moreover, she knew that she was treading sac- 
 rilegiously upon Miss Costello's most sacred ground. 
 But rebellion was alive within her. "I don't think it's
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 63 
 
 much good praying against things like that," she 
 added. "How could the saints have time to bother 
 whether I'm sensible or not?" 
 
 "Isabel, I'm shocked at you! If your poor father 
 could only hear you ! A man that said his rosary 
 every night of his life !" 
 
 The demon of insubordination stirred in Isabel, 
 prompting retaliation. "If he hadn't said so many 
 prayers," she said irreverently, "perhaps he might 
 have got promotion in the bank and left me better 
 off." 
 
 For one moment Miss Costello looked down on her 
 in speechless anger; then, by an agitated exercise of 
 the control her religion taught her, she turned and 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 As the door closed, Isabel's bravado evaporated. 
 "Aunt Teresa !" she called suddenly. "Aunt Teresa, 
 come back ! I'm sorry !" 
 
 But by keeping her indignation within bounds, Miss 
 Costello felt that she had done enough. At the sound 
 of her name in Isabel's quick, emotional voice, she 
 paused on the corridor, murmured a prayer for her 
 niece's spiritual guidance, and silently passed down 
 the narrow stairs.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 LAST mass, celebrated at twelve o'clock, is the im- 
 portant event of Sunday in an Irish Catholic town. 
 Almost medieval in its pomp and pride, it presents 
 a curious contrast to the drab-hued life outside the 
 Church ; for within the precincts there is colour for a 
 dozen pictures, were there artists to paint them. 
 Splendid vestments, cloth of gold, wax lights, and 
 the glory of flowers are blent together in an atmos- 
 phere clouded with incense; while over the heads of 
 the congregation, making the impression audible, the 
 organ whispers or thunders the majesty of the 
 Eternal. 
 
 It was Isabel Costello's fourth Sunday in Waterford, 
 and in the bench nearest the altar she sat beside Miss 
 Costello, who might have posed for the spirit of re- 
 ligious fervour as she knelt, rigid in her plain black 
 dress, armed with long brown rosary beads, and a 
 ponderous prayer-book. 
 
 It would mislead from the outset to say that Isabel 
 was religious ; yet it would be overstating the case 
 to say that she was devoid of the religious sense. 
 Every tenet of the Roman Catholic Church she ac- 
 cepted with unquestioning belief, because to her imag- 
 ination those tenets were fixed as the stars in heaven ; 
 but in her composition there was nothing of the as- 
 cetic. Pray she could and frequently did with
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 65 
 
 a passionate fervour of supplication; but she pre- 
 ferred the priedieu of an oratory to the bare floor of 
 her own room, and her moments of devotion were usu- 
 ally inspired from without rather than from within. 
 
 She sat now in the clouded atmosphere, and her 
 thoughts, freed by the music of the organ, flowed out 
 upon the stream of her fancy. Her prayer-book lay 
 open before her, but her eyes were not following the 
 prayers : she sat, as she had sat a hundred times in 
 the convent chapel, weaving the dream that all youth 
 weaves ; but with this difference, that in the convent 
 chapel the dreams had been tinged with the pearl and 
 silver of dawning things, and now the light of a wak- 
 ing world was touching them to rose and gold. There 
 was life to be lived now ! She no longer stood expec- 
 tant in a realm of ideals. Vaguely moved by these 
 imaginings, she stood up and knelt down, mechanically 
 noting the chanting of the priests, the silences of the 
 choir, and the fresh bursts of music from the organ, 
 while her mind travelled back over the ground she 
 had covered, from this mass in the Waterford cathe- 
 dral to the day in Paris when love had confronted 
 her in the guise of the first man she had known. For 
 it was love the image, the abstraction that had 
 broken down her defences on the evening that she had 
 stood by the window of the hotel salon with Frank 
 Carey, and looked down into the narrow street, where 
 the asphalt shone like ice in the white light of the 
 electric lamps, and the stumbling of the cab-horses 
 and the cracking of whips rose mingling with excited
 
 66 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 street cries. There had been a sense of fate in the 
 air that evening. She remembered looking across at 
 the opposite houses and thinking how like they were 
 to painted houses upon the stage, with their flat fronts 
 and shuttered windows ; then that first recollection was 
 rent by the newer, stronger memory of Frank's arm 
 thrust suddenly about her waist, and Frank's unex- 
 pected kiss upon her cheek. Rough, untempered 
 love-making it would have been to the mind of the 
 experienced, but to the girl released a week before 
 from a convent school it had seemed the knowledge 
 of life ; and Frank Carey, the freckled, sandy-haired 
 boy, had taken on the glamour of romance in that mo- 
 ment of daring. 
 
 Reflected in the mirror of her thoughts, he had ap- 
 peared before her in that moment as the knight storm- 
 ing the castle of his lady-love. And now ? The organ 
 spoke low, dropping to the note of question, and her 
 cheeks reddened as though human lips had propounded 
 a riddle. Now? She looked at the figures of the 
 three priests officiating at the mass that was drawing 
 to its close, and suddenly the vision of the avenue at 
 Fair Hill rose up before her mind the avenue with 
 the chestnut buds silhouetted against the night sky 
 and the first stars dappling the darkness. 
 
 The blessing was given, and the congregation stood 
 up for the last gospel. Isabel rose with the rest, and 
 knelt again for the final prayers ; then at last, the 
 service ended, the three priests disappeared into the 
 mysterious regions behind the altar, the organist
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 67 
 
 struck the first chord of the solemn march, and the 
 stream of people began to pour into the aisle. 
 
 It was some time before Miss Costello had finished 
 her private devotions, and the church was fast empty- 
 ing when she and Isabel rose to depart. They were 
 almost the last to emerge from the church and step 
 out upon the flagged space guarded by railings that 
 shuts the cathedral from the street and makes a 
 tempting loitering place for those whose duty lies 
 behind them. Isabel's first impression as she came 
 out into the light was of a crowd broken up into little 
 knots of two and three, and of a number of voices 
 exchanging conflicting greetings ; her next, the con- 
 sciousness of Miss Costello pulling at her sleeve with 
 nervous anxiety. 
 
 "Isabel! Isabel! Don't you see Mrs. Power salut- 
 ing you?" 
 
 Isabel turned sharply. "No, I don't, Aunt Teresa ! 
 Where?" 
 
 "Over there, by the steps. Look now! She's smil- 
 ing at you." 
 
 Isabel turned, half reluctantly, in the direction in- 
 dicated, and then the blood rose hotly to her face, 
 for Mrs. Power was the centre of a party formed by 
 Mary Norris and Daisy and Stephen Carey. 
 
 "Go on, Isabel!" urged Miss Costello; "she wants 
 to speak to you. You ought to thank her for driving 
 you home that night ; 'twould be only polite." 
 
 Isabel didn't seem to hear her aunt's persuasion, and 
 it is doubtful whether the pleadings would have met
 
 68 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 with any response had not Mrs. Power made a for- 
 ward movement, and settled the question for herself. 
 
 "Ah, my dear child, how are you? I haven't seen 
 you since the dance !" she said, pushing a way through 
 the intervening people, and extending a friendly 
 hand. "What have you been doing these weeks past? 
 And here's your aunt, too ! How are you, Miss Cos- 
 tello? You ought to have been at Fair Hill that 
 night: you really ought. There were no two opin- 
 ions about it, your niece was the belle. She could have 
 filled her programme twice over; even my own hus- 
 band lost his heart. I can tell you I was quite jeal- 
 ous." She gave a pleasant laugh, drawing the 
 girl into her favour with a motherly tone and 
 glance. 
 
 Meanwhile a moment of indecision had fallen on the 
 little group she had deserted. With many misgivings 
 Daisy was asking herself whether she should or should 
 she not make advances towards this possible disturber 
 of her husband's projects? But as she hesitated be- 
 tween uncertainty as to Carey's views and the instinc- 
 tive desire to stand in with Mrs. Power in all social 
 matters, Stephen decided the point by stepping for- 
 ward and greeting Isabel. 
 
 "How are you, Miss Costello?" 
 
 Isabel started at the sound of her name ; and turn- 
 ing, gave her hand in a silence born of sudden and 
 uncontrollable shyness. 
 
 "How are you?" he said again, a little awkwardly. 
 "We haven't seen you since the dance. Let me in-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 69 
 
 troduce my wife! I think you know my sister-in- 
 law!" 
 
 For a swift second Daisy looked at Isabel, Isabel at 
 Daisy, appraising each other sweepingly, as women 
 do; then Daisy held out her hand. 
 
 "How are you?" she said. "We used to know each 
 other long ago. I remember you as well as anything 
 at a children's party at the Burkes' when I was ten; 
 and you cried because I fell over you in 'Blindman's 
 Buff.' " 
 
 "Oh, yes ! I remember too." Isabel laughed. "I 
 was only five, but I remember as well as anything 
 that you and your sister had blue dresses and fair 
 plaits tied with blue. I envied you fearfully." 
 
 Daisy echoed the laugh, and Mary Norris strolled 
 slowly forward. "How are you?" she said, using the 
 inevitable greeting. "How did you enjoy the dance? 
 You seemed to be having a grand time, as far as I 
 could see." 
 
 "The dance? Oh, 'twas splendid! I loved it !" Isa- 
 bel looked straight in front of her, conscious that 
 Carey's eyes were watching her with half -unwilling 
 interest. 
 
 "And who did you like best?" Try as she might, 
 Mary could not hide the half -malicious lifting of the 
 corner of her mouth. 
 
 Isabel turned. "Oh, old Mr. Burke, of course !" she 
 said with native readiness. 
 
 Carey laughed. "Good ! Take my advice, Miss Cos- 
 tello. Don't let them draw you!"
 
 70 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Mary's smile deepened as she saw Isabel colour ; and 
 Isabel, conscious both of the smile and of her own 
 blush, glanced round confusedly. "We we ought 
 to be going," she said. "Where's Aunt Teresa?" 
 
 "Here ! Here, my dear, gossiping with me ! You're 
 right to remind us how idle we are. Daisy, I'll run 
 in with you to Lady Lane for a minute." Mrs. Power 
 wheeled round upon them with her large, placid per- 
 sonality and homely smile. 
 
 Daisy made a, hasty little gesture of pleasure and 
 gratification. "Oh, do! Do, Mrs. Power!" Then, 
 as she saw Mrs. Power look promptingly towards Isa- 
 bel and Miss Costello, she added in a less enthusiastic 
 voice "And you, Miss Costello ! Won't you come in 
 for a minute too?" 
 
 Miss Costello looked confused. "It's it's very kind 
 of you, Mrs. Carey, I'm sure ! Very kind of you !" 
 
 "Only we must go straight home," Isabel added 
 promptly. Swift in the gaining of an impression as 
 in the prompting of an instinct, she had heard the 
 hesitancy and felt the doubt in Daisy's mind. 
 
 Miss Costello looked nervous, and Daisy slightly of- 
 fended "Oh, of course if you are busy " she 
 
 said. 
 
 "We are. We promised to be back. Didn't we, Aunt 
 Teresa?" 
 
 At her niece's glance poor Miss Costello wavered 
 hopelessly. "We are. We did," she said. "It's very 
 kind of you, but " 
 
 "Good-bye! You see we must go. Good-bye, Mrs.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 71 
 
 Power ! Good-bye !" In turn Isabel shook hands with 
 Daisy, Mary, Mrs. Power and, last of all, with Carey. 
 For the one fleeting second that her hand rested in 
 his, she glanced up at him a quick, bright look dif- 
 ficult to read ; then, leaving her aunt to follow as best 
 she could, she turned and walked out into the street. 
 
 As Miss Costello beat a hurried retreat, Daisy, whose 
 eyes were upon Isabel's straight, lithe figure, spoke 
 her thoughts. "She's queer, isn't she?" she said in 
 a slow, meditative way. 
 
 "Queer?" Mary cried. "I think she's the coolest 
 person I ever met in my life. I can tell you I wouldn't 
 like to be in the aunt's shoes." 
 
 Mrs. Power put her hand on Mary's arm. "Ah, now, 
 Mary, make excuses ! What is she but a child 1" 
 
 "A very wide-awake child, Mrs. Power!" 
 
 "Ah, no, Mary ! I don't think so." 
 
 "Don't you? Wait and see!" Mary turned, and 
 began to make her own way through the crowd of 
 loiterers. 
 
 "And you, Stephen? What do you think of her? 
 I like a man's opinion on my own sex." 
 
 Carey turned, roused from a brown study. "I?" he 
 said. "Oh, I don't pretend to understand women, 
 Mrs. Power."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MEANWHILE, Isabel and her aunt were making their 
 way up the hill that led to New Town, where Miss 
 Costello's small house stood behind its patch of gar- 
 den. For several minutes after they had parted with 
 the Careys neither of them spoke ; but at last, as their 
 goal drew within sight, Isabel felt her sentiments no 
 longer to be controlled. 
 
 "Aunt Teresa," she said suddenly, "I don't know 
 I really don't know how you can go on like that." 
 
 Miss Costello half paused in her hurried walk. 
 "Like what ?" she demanded. 
 
 "Oh, not having a bit of pride! Not seeing when 
 people don't want you!" 
 
 "Don't want me? But the Careys wanted us Daisy 
 Carey herself asked us." 
 
 Isabel tossed her head contemptuously. "Yes. Asked 
 us because Mrs. Power was nice to us and Mrs. 
 Power is good position. Do you think she'd have 
 done it except for that ? Indeed she wouldn't !" 
 
 Poor Miss Costello was crushed, nevertheless she 
 made a fight for her own attitude. "Well, I think 
 you ought to have gone in, all the same. You'll have 
 to be friendly sooner or later, if you're to be one of 
 the family." 
 
 "I may never be one of the family!" 
 
 "Isabel!"
 
 TH FLY ON THE WHEEL 73 
 
 "Oh, well, I didn't mean that." 
 
 Miss Costello heaved a sigh of relief for even this 
 small mercy. "Of course not!" she said, to reassure 
 herself. "Of course not. Not when you can count on 
 Frank. I'm sure the poor fellow is devoted enough !" 
 
 Once more Isabel's chin was contemptuously raised. 
 "Would you like to be going to marry a 'poor fel- 
 low'?" 
 
 "You're very absurd, child! You know I didn't 
 mean it like that. I'm sure Frank is very talented." 
 
 "Talented, indeed ! I'll tell you what Frank is. He's 
 j ust a shadow of his brother. Only for his brother he 
 wouldn't be there at all. I found that out since I came 
 home." 
 
 "The shadow of his brother? Indeed, I don't agree 
 with you. I think Frank Carey has plenty of clever- 
 ness of his own; and I'd much prefer him myself to 
 Stephen. He's a great deal pleasanter in his manner." 
 
 "Weak people are nice to everybody, because they 
 haven't courage to be anything else !" 
 
 Isabel made this pronouncement as they were passing 
 through the garden-gate, and, having made it, she 
 stepped aside into the small grass-plot, to gather a 
 handful of violets, while Miss Costello hurried into 
 the house, where the one servant of the establishment 
 was awaiting her superintendence in the cooking of 
 the early dinner. 
 
 The flowers gathered, Isabel made her own way in- 
 doors, passing up the narrow stairs to her cramped 
 bedroom. Her first action on entering the room was
 
 74 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 to cross to the dressing-table, peer closely into the 
 mirror at her own reflection, and, taking off her hat, 
 to throw it carelessly on the bed. 
 
 She could not have explained her mood, but she felt 
 restless and half angry. Nothing definite had hap- 
 pened to displease her, but it was precisely this nega- 
 tive condition of circumstances that left her dis- 
 turbed. She would have everything fire or sun 
 battle or ecstasy; the calm, the uneventful she ban- 
 ished from her toleration with an unsparing definite- 
 ness. 
 
 Having thrown her hat aside, she lingered for a 
 while by the dressing-table, her fingers drumming on 
 the white cloth that covered its mahogany surface, her 
 eyes dark and brooding; then, forced to action by 
 some prompting thought, she slowly opened one of 
 the table drawers and drew forth a blotter filled with 
 odd sheets of note-paper and envelopes of varying 
 sizes; and unearthing a pen and a pot of ink from 
 some dark recess, placed the whole collection upon 
 the table. 
 
 Her next move was to pull forward a chair and seat 
 herself upon the edge of it, and this action was typical 
 of her mood : the fact that she did not approach her 
 task squarely showed that it was unwelcome, for to 
 the things that were congenial she went straight as 
 a bird in its flight, heart and soul, mind and body 
 one undivided impulse. 
 
 With her neck uncomfortably twisted and her elbow 
 resting on the table, she dipped the pen into the ink,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 75 
 
 made a blot on the white cloth, and, drawing forward 
 a sheet of paper, wrote the words "Dearest Frank." 
 
 For a long time she remained looking at this accom- 
 plished work and striving to connect it with herself. 
 She looked at the words and wondered looked at 
 them again, and wondered again. Why had the writ- 
 ing of a letter become a thing so irksome? She re- 
 called her first note to Frank how the blood had 
 flooded her cheeks at the mere fact of putting a man's 
 name upon paper how every shy and halting ex- 
 pression had meant a separate sensation. Why had 
 all this changed? Why had the excitement, the 
 glamour fallen from the whole idea, as colours might 
 fade from a picture? A wave of impatience trembled 
 across her mind. She felt angry she felt cruel. 
 Suddenly seizing the paper, she tore the letter in two, 
 as though by the act she could inflict some punishment 
 upon the unconscious author of her disaffection ; then 
 with equal suddenness she lifted her head in a listen- 
 ing attitude, for her quick ears had caught the sound 
 of footsteps on the little gravel-path, footsteps that 
 were followed almost immediately by a knock on the 
 hall door. 
 
 Visitors were few and far between at the little house 
 at New Town, and involuntarily she rose and ran to 
 the window. She pulled back the starched and torn 
 lace curtain, and leant forward curiously; then as 
 precipitately she drew back again, all the anger, all 
 the waywardness gone from her face, every feature 
 lighted up with sudden interest.
 
 76 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 She sat down on the side of her bed, her hands 
 clasped, her heart beating quickly, as she heard the 
 slipshod steps of the servant shuffle down the hall, 
 heard the door open, and heard the visitor's peremp- 
 tory demand for Miss Costello. Next, she was con- 
 scious of two pairs of feet going down the passage 
 and of the shutting of the parlour door, followed by 
 a perfectly audible and flurried explanation between 
 the servant and Miss Costello in the back regions of 
 the house; then lastly, she distinguished her aunt's 
 steps on the creaking stairs, and a moment later saw 
 her excited face round the corner of the bedroom door. 
 
 "Isabel !" she exclaimed, almost before, she had en- 
 tered the room. "Isabel, do you know who's below?" 
 
 Isabel sprang to her feet. "S-sh, Aunt Teresa! 
 He'll hear you." 
 
 "It's Stephen Carey." 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "What on earth can he want? What do you think 
 he can want?" 
 
 "How do I know!" Isabel hid the light that was 
 dancing in her eyes. 
 
 "Am I an awful object? I was just in the middle 
 of making the apple-dumpling. It's a queer hour, in- 
 deed, for a person to be calling ; he might have waited 
 till three o'clock !" She came forward into the room, 
 her hair a little more untidy than usual, a check apron 
 covering her black dress, and a dab of flour on her 
 cheek testifying to her recent labours. "Let me look 
 at myself !" she added, going up to the dressing-table,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 77 
 
 and proceeding without permission to smooth her 
 hair with Isabel's brush. 
 
 At any other moment this would have called forth 
 an indignant protest from the owner, but Isabel was 
 too excited now to give heed to the niceties of prop- 
 erty, and, coming forward graciously, she even helped 
 to pull down Miss Costello's sleeves, and herself un- 
 tied the apron strings and dusted the flour from her 
 face. 
 
 "Will I do now? I declare I am as flurried as any- 
 thing, being called away like that in the middle of the 
 dumpling! I only hope Lizzie will be able to go on 
 with it." 
 
 To this string of words Isabel paid not the slightest 
 attention; but, having made her aunt presentable, 
 pushed her unceremoniously towards the door. 
 
 But Miss Costello refused to cross the threshold. 
 "You'll come with me, won't you? Oh, Isabel, you'll 
 come with me?" 
 
 Isabel looked down, coquetting with herself. "I don't 
 know." 
 
 "Oh, Isabel, do! Be a good girl, and do!" 
 
 "Very well, I'll come after you." 
 
 "Ah, come now !" 
 
 "No; afterwards." 
 
 "Very well! Will I do?" 
 
 "You're splendid." 
 
 "Well, don't be long!" She nodded a last injunc- 
 tion; and, still full of nervous trepidation, made her 
 way downstairs.
 
 73 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Isabel stood on the tiptoe of interest as she heard her 
 descend the stairs and open the parlour door, but her 
 strained ears caught only the confused murmur of a 
 greeting, followed by the closing of the door; and 
 at this sign of privacy she turned back into the room, 
 and for the second time since her return from mass 
 walked up to the mirror and studied her appearance. 
 This time the face that looked back into her own was 
 alive and joyous, and as she brushed her ruffled hair, 
 the sense of power and energy rose within her. 
 
 Money was scarce in the small household, and in 
 consequence her wardrobe was of the scantiest ; but 
 with the unquenchable instinct of adornment, she took 
 a bow of cherry-coloured tulle from a drawer and 
 pinned it at the neck of her pink muslin dress. As 
 she was in the act of arranging it, steps sounded 
 again upon the stairs, this time awkward and shuf- 
 fling, and presently a knock fell timidly on the door. 
 
 "What is it? Come in !" she called. 
 
 The door opened an inch or two, and the face of 
 Lizzie the servant appeared at the aperture. 
 
 "Miss Isabel," she gasped, "Miss Costello is wantin' 
 you below in the parlour; and she says you're to be 
 as quick as you can." Lizzie was newly from the 
 country, and as yet raw material. 
 
 "All right! Only I wish you'd come into a room, 
 Lizzie, when a person tells you to." 
 
 "I will, miss ! Yes, miss !" Lizzie backed incon- 
 tinently down the stairs, overcome by embarrassment. 
 
 Isabel, very nearly as agitated as the maid, put an-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 79 
 
 other pin into the tulle bow and hurried across the 
 room and out into the corridor; but pride would not 
 allow her to run down the stairs, though her feet 
 danced to be off, and she reached the parlour door 
 with a very dignified demeanour. 
 
 As she turned the handle and entered, however, a 
 little of the dignity evaporated, for the scene was not 
 quite what she had anticipated. At the mahogany 
 table that wellnigh filled the little room, Miss Cos- 
 tello and Carey were seated upon two of the stiff 
 horsehair chairs that had come, with Isabel herself, 
 as a legacy from the improvident Dan. Carey was 
 sitting bolt upright, looking resolute and uncomfort- 
 able; while his companion, in a condition of obvious 
 perturbation, was nervously plaiting and unplaiting 
 the fringe of the table-cloth. 
 
 As Isabel appeared, Carey rose. "I suppose you are 
 rather surprised to see me again," he began. 
 
 Isabel said nothing: if there was a difficult moment 
 to be faced, she decided that he must bear the brunt 
 of it. 
 
 Miss Costello stirred agitatedly in her seat. "I'm 
 afraid Mr. Carey hasn't come on a very pleasant mis- 
 sion, Isabel." 
 
 "No. No, I'm afraid I haven't. But won't you sit 
 down?" 
 
 In the same determined silence Isabel accepted the 
 chair he drew forward for her; and resting her el- 
 bows on the table, clasped her hands under her chin. 
 
 Carey, still obviously ill at ease, dropped back into
 
 80 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 his own seat and made a fresh essay. "I hadn't in- 
 tended to do this to come here like this," he said; 
 "but I realised in the last three weeks that it mightn't 
 be very easy to find an opportunity of seeing you, and 
 so I decided to to make the plunge." 
 
 Isabel bent her head in acknowledgment that the 
 words were meant for her, and Miss Costello gave a 
 fluttering sigh. 
 
 The difficulties placed in his way seemed to brace 
 Stephen, for he suddenly cast aside his conciliatory 
 tactics, and made a headlong rush for his point. "Of 
 course you know why I have come," he said. 
 
 Isabel, offended by this bluntness, opened her eyes. 
 "How could I know?" 
 
 At the little touch of artificiality he lost patience. 
 "Oh, don't make light of the matter !" he said quickly. 
 "Frank is serious to me." 
 
 In an instant Isabel was as angrily sincere as he. 
 
 "And do you think he's not serious to me ? Have you 
 any right to suppose that?" 
 
 "Not serious, indeed!" Miss Costello murmured. 
 "When I think of the prayers I have said and the 
 candles I have lighted, that we might all be guided to 
 do right!" 
 
 Isabel gave her a withering glance and turned again 
 upon Carey. "After all, it must be more serious to 
 me than to anybody " 
 
 "Except Frank himself." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, I mean that marriage must be more impor-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 81 
 
 tant to a man than to a woman not in the senti- 
 mental sense, perhaps, but in the ordinary, practical, 
 everyday sense. After all, if a woman likes to make 
 a poor marriage she does it with her eyes open and she 
 finds compensations ; it's the man who does it blindly, 
 and it's the man who sinks under it. I know what 
 I'm talking about." 
 
 "Some of the happiest couples have been poor!" 
 ejaculated Miss Costello. "Look at my poor brother !" 
 
 Carey refrained from making use of the weapon 
 placed in his hands, and merely said: "Don't forget 
 that your brother is dead, Miss Costello, and that 
 death casts a sort of glamour over things." 
 
 She heaved a sigh. "Ah, Dan was a saint!" she 
 murmured to herself. "A saint !" 
 
 "But poor people can be happy," Isabel cried. 
 "Poor people can be happy. I'd rather be a beggar 
 ten times over, than make what they call here a 'good 
 match.' I think it's much more to be despised to sell 
 yourself as if you were a sheep or a horse than to 
 marry because you care." 
 
 "Isabel! Isabel!" 
 
 "Be quiet, Aunt Teresa! I will say what I think. 
 You hate me to marry Frank because I have no 
 money ; but if I was rich you'd let us get married to- 
 morrow, even if I was lame or blind. You think of 
 nothing but money money and position. You live 
 in a little, little world, where if people ever do feel 
 anything, they're afraid to say so!" 
 
 Carey, watching the expressions darkening and
 
 82 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 lighting her face, leant suddenly across the table. 
 "Miss Costello," he said, "I thought exactly the same 
 as that, when I was your age. When I was twenty 
 I thought Waterford the narrowest hole on God's 
 earth, and myself the one man who was going to step 
 outside it. But " he gave a quick, despondent shrug 
 of the shoulders "I went under when the time came. 
 I went under like the rest. There's a big machine 
 called expediency, and we are its slaves. We oil it 
 and polish it and keep it running, every man and 
 woman of us ; and if by any chance one of us puts 
 his hands behind his back and says he won't feed the 
 monster any more, what happens? Does the machine 
 stop ? Not at all ! It's the deserter who goes under ; 
 the machine roars on louder than before. It's only 
 by pandering to it that we live ; and the man who has 
 oiled his own particular wheel is in duty bound to 
 see that those dependent on him learn to oil theirs. 
 This brother of mine belongs to me: I've fathered 
 him and trained him and educated him, and I'll see 
 him have a fair start. You must understand my 
 position ! You must see my point of view ! I'm writ- 
 ing to Frank to-night ; let me tell him that you have 
 accepted my decision?" 
 
 Isabel kept her hands obstinately locked, her eyes 
 obstinately lowered. 
 
 "Let me write that to-night? Frank isn't a boy 
 with a great deal of character; he's not the boy to 
 make a way for himself." 
 
 "He cares for me."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 83 
 
 "I have no doubt he does. But no romantic man 
 ever made a fortune." 
 
 Her eyes blazed again. "I don't want a fortune. 
 I told you that." 
 
 "I see ! Then it's no use ? The sensible thing doesn't 
 appeal to you?" 
 
 "No, it does not. I hate the sensible thing." 
 
 "All right! I'm sorry! You force me to do what 
 I don't like to do." 
 
 "What's that?" Isabel stood up. 
 
 "You force me to tell Frank that unless he breaks 
 off this engagement I must stop supplies. It's very 
 unpleasant, but there's nothing else for it. I've done 
 what I could." He rose rather stiffly from his chair. 
 
 Isabel paled, then reddened violently. "You you 
 would do that?" she said. 
 
 "For his own good, yes. I told you the matter was 
 serious to me." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Carey, you wouldn't !" cried Miss Costello. 
 "You surely wouldn't! Think of the poor fellow's 
 feelings ! Young people will be young people, you 
 know !" 
 
 "Stop, Aunt Teresa ! Mr. Carey, do you think that 
 when you write to Frank, he'll break off our engage- 
 ment?" 
 
 Carey hesitated. "Frank is not strong-minded." 
 
 "That means you do think it? You think he'll give 
 me up at a word from you?" 
 
 "Certainly not that. But he is dependent on me; 
 he hasn't a penny of his own and a man must live."
 
 84 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And suppose he writes back that he doesn't care 
 a pin about your money?" 
 
 Carey began to move slowly towards the door. "On 
 his own head be it, then!" he said. "I'll have done 
 my best. I'm sorry I should have had to offend you." 
 He hesitated and looked back at her. 
 
 But Isabel would not meet his eyes. 
 
 "Won't you say good-bye? I am sorry though 
 you may not believe it." 
 
 "Good-bye!" She did not look up or hold out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Costello !" He turned to the older 
 woman. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Carey! I suppose you're acting 
 for the best; but indeed I must say you're hard 
 very hard." 
 
 He did not attempt to shake hands with her; and, 
 passing out of the room in silence, he went quietly 
 down the hall, and let himself out by the small front 
 door. 
 
 Instantly he was gone, Miss Costello's feelings broke 
 all bounds. "Oh, Isabel," she cried, "what a fright- 
 ful thing! What a terrible thing! A good match 
 like that slipping away before our very eyes ! What 
 a pity your poor father wasn't more saving not 
 that he had anything to save! But if only you had 
 a little money now, how different things would be! 
 To think that a son of old Barny Carey the builder 
 should have it in his power to despise one of the 
 Costellos !"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 85 
 
 Isabel stood for a moment listening to her aunt with 
 pale lips and eyes black with passion ; then all at once 
 she brought her hands together with a fierce gesture. 
 "Aunt Teresa," she said, "if you say one word more 
 you'll drive me stark, staring mad!" And before 
 Miss Costello had time to recover from her surprise, 
 she had vanished from the room.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FOR a week inaction oppressed Isabel's life; then the 
 atmosphere lifted. A letter arrived from Paris. 
 
 With the arrival of this letter everything was 
 altered ; it was as if a cloud had been dispersed, per- 
 mitting the sun of activity to shine forth again and 
 fill her world. She read it in the morning, while Miss 
 Costello was at the ten o'clock mass ; and, armed with 
 sudden decision, she did not wait to peruse the pages 
 a second time, but, pinning on her hat, sallied forth 
 from the house, on fire with the sense of adventure. 
 
 The Waterford streets are not very remarkable 
 either for business activity or beauty at ten o'clock 
 in the morning, but romance is a matter of soul, not 
 of surrounding; and as she threaded her way down 
 the incline of streets from New Town to the Mall, 
 her senses were attuned to the lilt of her thoughts, 
 and her heart kept time like a dancer's feet. 
 
 At the corner of the Mall she stopped to give a 
 penny to a blind beggar, and the man's eloquent flow 
 of blessings seemed the last note in the paean of tri- 
 umph. For she was about to commit an act of dar- 
 ing, she was about to outrage that conventionality 
 in which the members of her set moved and breathed ; 
 and as she swung along the streets, she recalled 
 Carey's outburst in the little parlour, his simile of the 
 great, insistent machine of expediency ; and as added
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 87 
 
 stimulus the vision of herself rose up one of the 
 fearless few with hands metaphorically locked, refus- 
 ing to feed the monster. 
 
 Crossing one or two of the more important thor- 
 oughfares, she passed at last into one of the quieter, 
 narrower streets that in every town are stamped with 
 the seal of the professions, and over which an air of 
 privacy is gathered like a garment. With eager and 
 yet hesitating steps she threaded her way along the 
 deserted footpath, taking quick, sidelong glances at 
 the windows carefully screened from the vulgar gaze, 
 until at last the name of "Stephen Carey, Solicitor," 
 displayed in black letters on grated ironwork, 
 brought her to a standstill. 
 
 With an involuntary impulse she glanced up and 
 down the silent street ; then, with slightly nervous 
 haste, she turned in at the open doorway. 
 
 A dark and dusty passage confronted her as she 
 stepped in out of the daylight, but a door at its 
 farther end gave renewed hope, for there again 
 Carey's name was blazoned forth, and, hurrying for- 
 ward, she knocked twice on the glass panel. For a 
 moment she waited, listening intently ; then, as no 
 sound reached her, she spurred her courage and turned 
 the handle. 
 
 The room into which she stepped was Carey's outer 
 office, and to a first glance it looked almost as unat- 
 tractive as the passage that led to it. The ceiling 
 was high ; the walls bare, save where they were fitted 
 with shelves; the only pieces of furniture two high
 
 88 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 desks placed in the middle of the room. A reedy 
 youth of eighteen or nineteen was seated at one of 
 these desks, a pen behind each red ear, his long legs 
 twined round an office stool ; at sound of the opening 
 door he looked round casually, only to be transfixed 
 with surprise at sight of the intruder. 
 
 Isabel coloured angrily at his open-eyed stare. "I 
 want to see Mr. Carey," she announced promptly. 
 "Is he here?" 
 
 The youth took a third pen from between his teeth. 
 "You can't see him," he said in a drawling voice that 
 seemed to part grudgingly with its words. 
 
 "Is he here?" 
 
 "Yes, he's here." 
 
 "Then why can't I see him?" 
 
 "Well, you can't, for he's engaged." 
 
 Isabel, who was no respecter of persons, made haste 
 to probe this statement. "What is he doing?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 The youth, nonplussed by such directness, was drawn 
 to answer directly. "Well, he's talking to the head 
 clerk." 
 
 At this, Isabel's assurance flowed back in full meas- 
 ure. "Is that all!" she said contemptuously. "Go 
 and tell him at once that somebody wants him!" 
 
 The youth wriggled on his stool. "Oh, I don't 
 know that I can do that," he demurred. "Are you a 
 client?" 
 
 Isabel ignored both the objection and the question. 
 "Where is he?" she asked.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 89 
 
 He indicated a second door. "In there, in his pri- 
 vate office." 
 
 She acknowledged the information by a nod of her 
 head. "Very well! Then I'll tell him myself," she 
 said; and, leaving the youth too amazed for protest, 
 she crossed the room, and without more ado knocked 
 peremptorily on the inner door. 
 
 There was a slight pause; then came a sound of 
 steps, followed by the opening of the door, and the 
 head clerk, a fair man with a short beard and near- 
 sighted eyes, looked out impatiently. 
 
 "What do you want, Thomas?" he said, but seeing 
 the intruder, he broke off. "Oh, I beg your pardon ! 
 What can I do for you?" 
 
 "Can I see Mr. Carey ? My name is Costello. Per- 
 haps you'll tell him that I'm here." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly I will." The clerk glanced be- 
 hind him hesitatingly, then stepped aside, as he saw 
 Carey rise quickly from his desk and come across the 
 room. 
 
 The surprise that had crossed Stephen's face at the 
 sound of Isabel's voice was still visible as he pushed 
 past the clerk and threw the door wide; and in that 
 first unguarded second she seized upon the certainty 
 that the surprise was not unpleasant. 
 
 "I suppose I oughtn't to have come ! But I wanted 
 to see you, and I couldn't think of any other 
 place." 
 
 Carey laughed, as he took her hand and drew her 
 into the office. "You can go on with that deed, All-
 
 90 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 man !" he added ; and the head clerk withdrew, closing 
 the door. 
 
 She had taken him unprepared, and in the moment 
 of surprise it seemed that he was once more the 
 Stephen Carey of the Fair Hill dance the real man, 
 unshackled by convention. 
 
 Her spirits soared high. She looked into his face, 
 echoing his laugh. 
 
 "But I shouldn't have come, should I?" 
 
 "You shouldn't unless you want legal advice !" 
 
 She took the chair he pushed forward for her, 
 watching him seat himself at the large flat-topped 
 desk where he transacted all his work. 
 
 "You can guess why I came, can't you?" 
 
 "Another battle?" 
 
 She made no reply ; but, smiling under the half -quiz- 
 zical, half-questioning gaze of his eyes, slipped her 
 hand into her pocket and pulled out a thin foreign 
 envelope. 
 
 " 'Twas for this. I wanted to show you this." 
 
 She held out the letter, and, as it passed from her 
 hand to his, she sank back again into her chair, ap- 
 parently absorbed in a study of the black tin boxes 
 lining the walls, in reality listening with sharp in- 
 tensity to the rustle of the paper between his fingers. 
 She stayed quite motionless while he drew the sheet of 
 paper from its envelope, and while he turned the first 
 page ; then, unable to restrain her curiosity, she moved 
 in her seat and shot a swift glance at him as he sat 
 with head bent and body leaning forward.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 91 
 
 As if conscious of the glance, he looked up. 
 
 "So you wanted me to read this?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 He folded the letter and refolded it, drawing out 
 the creases mechanically, while his eyes fixed them- 
 selves upon the papers crowded on his desk. 
 
 "So this is Frank's answer to me? He cares noth- 
 ing for me or for my money, so long as you stick to 
 him!" 
 
 He spoke in a low voice, so low that it was impos- 
 sible to follow its expression; and Isabel, watching 
 his immobile face, felt her courage falter. 
 
 "Are you very disappointed?" 
 
 He looked up at her again, and his glance was the 
 hard, cold glance with which he had always scanned 
 his failures. "Oh, I acknowledge myself beaten!" 
 
 The colour leaped into her face the red banner of 
 success. This was the moment for which she had lived 
 as she swung along the streets, and her whole spirit 
 rose now to meet it. With one of her swiftest ges- 
 tures, she stood up and walked across to him. 
 
 "Mr. Carey," she said, the nervous note of tense ex- 
 citement thrilling in her voice, "Mr. Carey, why do 
 you treat me as if I was a sort of enemy? Why do 
 you speak to me as if I was trying to bring Frank 
 to ruin, just out of spite? Why have you never asked 
 me to break off with him as as a sort of favour 
 as a sort of kindness?" 
 
 She looked down at him, her finger-tips resting on 
 the desk, her face brimming with expression.
 
 92 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Why haven't you ever thought that I might do it 
 to help you to please you?" 
 
 Carey glanced up. "I suppose I only know one way 
 of getting things." 
 
 She threw back her head. "And you think women 
 like that way?" 
 
 He was silent. It did not come to him to tell her 
 that all his life he had commanded, not asked of, 
 women. 
 
 "Don't you think if you had asked, things might 
 have been different?" 
 
 "I never ask." 
 
 "Ask now!" The words were almost a whisper a 
 whisper in which he could hear the catch and quiver 
 of her breath. 
 
 He twisted round in his seat. "What do you mean 
 by that?" 
 
 "What I say. Ask now !" 
 
 Native suspicion ousted the surprise in his face. 
 "I don't like being made a fool of !" 
 
 Isabel drew herself up. "And do you think I came 
 here to make a fool of you ? I'll tell you why I came ! 
 I came to tell you that you can keep Frank that I 
 don't want him that I'm done with him." 
 
 In the immeasurable relief of the moment Carey 
 jumped up. "You mean that?" he cried. "You actu- 
 ally mean that?" 
 
 "I do mean it ; yes." 
 
 They stood for a moment looking at each other in 
 the quiet office he absorbed by the news, she ob-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 93 
 
 servant of him. In the crucial moments of life it is 
 always the woman who puts the eternal "Why?" 
 Man, the active, the unanalytical, who deals in re- 
 sults. It never touched Carey's mind to question the 
 motives that had prompted this act of renunciation, 
 the tangled feelings that had prompted this change 
 of front: if he saw Isabel in the affair at all, it was 
 merely as the exponent of an unlooked-for generosity 
 a creature who had proved herself strangely sensi- 
 ble by falling in with his own views. The subtler 
 compliment went altogether unobserved. 
 
 "It's it's very generous of you," he said at length. 
 "What can I say?" 
 
 "I don't ask you to say anything. I'm not doing 
 it for thanks." 
 
 "And Frank? Have you thought of Frank?" 
 
 "I'll write to Frank to-night." 
 
 Carey's face changed. "He'll be very much cut up, 
 remember ! He'll do all sorts of things. He'll prob- 
 ably threaten to kill himself when he first hears this." 
 
 Isabel smiled. "First? You're not very compli- 
 mentary." 
 
 "Oh, it has nothing to do with you. It's only that 
 I know Frank. As for compliments, I can't pay them, 
 but I'd like to ask you to forgive me for a lot of 
 things ; and I'd like, I'd like, if it's possible, to be 
 friends." 
 
 Her glance, quick and warm, flashed to him. "You're 
 sincere when you say that?" 
 
 "Yes. I am."
 
 94 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 She held out her hand in a swift, free gesture. 
 "Then I'll go. I wanted you to say it. Good-bye !" 
 
 He took her fingers in his hard, strong grasp. 
 
 "Good-bye ! And thanks !" 
 
 This was their parting. No promise of a future 
 meeting, no suggestion of all that was yet to come. 
 A favour given, a favour received; a clasp of the 
 hands, and an inarticulate sense of mutual under- 
 standing.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HAD Isabel been the most industrious weaver of plots, 
 instead of the most heedlessly spontaneous of beings, 
 she could not have fitted impulse to action with better 
 social results than when she decided to renounce 
 Frank Carey ; for on the fourth day after her visit 
 to Stephen she received an almost affectionate note 
 from Daisy, asking her to excuse a short invitation 
 and dine at Lady Lane at six o'clock. The conscious- 
 ness of a calamity averted breathed in every line of 
 the commonplace little letter, although outwardly it 
 expressed nothing beyond an effusive regret that they 
 had only met once since Isabel's return to Water- 
 ford. 
 
 Isabel was going through the last stages of a try- 
 ing scene with Miss Costello on the subject of her 
 great decision when the letter was brought in; and, 
 having read it, she tossed it across the table with a 
 little smile of malicious satisfaction. 
 
 "You wanted me to get on with the Careys, so you 
 ought to be satisfied now! I couldn't have done the 
 two things !" 
 
 Miss Costello sighed heavily. "Easy for them to be 
 nice to you now !" she said, as she put the note down. 
 "Indeed, when I was a girl, it wasn't to be taking 
 things into my own hands like that I would !" 
 
 Isabel gave a still louder sigh. "You've said that
 
 96 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 ten times, Aunt Teresa! I don't suppose you were 
 ever like me, or that I will ever be like you." 
 
 "Indeed you won't! No one but your father's 
 daughter would have thrown away such a chance as 
 that!" 
 
 "Well, would you rather I didn't go to the Careys' ?" 
 
 "I didn't say so. I suppose half a loaf is better than 
 no bread though indeed 'twas very different society 
 your grandmother was in in the County Wexford!" 
 
 Isabel rose from the horse-hair arm-chair in which 
 she was sitting huddled up. "Is it evening dress, I 
 wonder !" 
 
 "Evening dress! What for?" 
 
 "Nothing! I was only wondering! At school, the 
 girls used to dress for dinner when they were home 
 on the holidays." 
 
 "Well, you won't find many in Waterford dressing 
 for their dinner. I suppose old Barny Carey would 
 turn in his grave with pride if he saw people sitting 
 at his son's table in evening dress !" 
 
 "Well, what'll I wear then?" 
 
 "Your white blouse, I suppose." 
 
 "Oh, auntie, it's awfully dirty!" 
 
 "Wear your pink, then." 
 
 "But he saw me in that on Sunday !" She said the 
 words unthinkingly; then paused, blushing. 
 
 But Miss Costello was not observant. "Is it Stephen 
 Carey?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And do you think he'd see what you had on? He's
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 97 
 
 not a bachelor, that he'd be noticing girls' clothes 1 
 Wear your pink!" 
 
 Isabel accepted the decision, not because she had 
 nothing further to urge upon the subject, but because 
 the scanty condition of her wardrobe was eloquently 
 present to her mind. So in her pink muslin dress, with 
 a sailor hat covering her hair and a dark ulster hiding 
 her finery, she started that evening from New Town 
 as the city clocks were striking half-past five. 
 
 There is no necessity for a chaperon at any hour in 
 an Irish town, and it would be looked upon as ex- 
 travagance for a young girl of Isabel's position to 
 drive to a dinner-party. On foot, therefore, and alone 
 she started for Lady Lane, and with the cool evening 
 air blowing up from the river, and the thought of the 
 enterprise acting as a stimulus, it was an undertaking 
 full of interest. Much of portent centred round this 
 invitation, for in the Careys' set young girls are not 
 usually asked out to dine; they have their allotted 
 place at dances and at evening parties, but dinners 
 are generally dull affairs reserved for the married of 
 the community, and this invitation of Daisy's was a 
 mark of special and premeditated grace at once a 
 balm for previous coldness and a promise of future 
 favour. 
 
 As Isabel approached the house, her steps became 
 slower; and as she crossed the road she looked up at 
 the windows, wondering which was Carey's the place 
 where he smoked, where he read, where he thought 
 those strange, circumscribed thoughts that he had
 
 98 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 expressed in her aunt's parlour. Slowly, and with her 
 mind full of question, she mounted the steps and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 The door was opened to her by Julia, whose face 
 was red from excitement and services rendered to the 
 cook, and whose cap and apron were aggressively 
 starched in honour of the evening's festivity. 
 
 "You'll take off your hat and jacket, won't you, 
 Miss Costello?" she said, proud to display her recog- 
 nition of the guest. 
 
 "Thanks! Yes." 
 
 "All right so! You can leave them in the spare 
 room. I'll show you the way up." 
 
 She piloted Isabel up the wide staircase, where the 
 walls were devoid of pictures but betrayed the ostenta- 
 tious prosperity that new paint and paper argues in 
 Ireland. On the first landing they passed the door of 
 the drawing-room, which was half open, and through 
 which the loud sound of laughter and voices came 
 rather dauntingly to the visitor. On the second floor 
 Julia opened the door of a bedroom the same bed- 
 room in which Daisy and Mary had dressed on the 
 night of the dance and Isabel looked round curiously 
 as she stepped across the threshold and began to un- 
 fasten her coat. 
 
 It was a large room, bare of wall and high of ceil- 
 ing, as are so many Irish rooms, possessing the lofty, 
 square-paned windows of another generation, that 
 rattle to every passing wind and permit the daylight 
 to search out every cranny and recess with merciless
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 99 
 
 rigour. Here, too, as in the hall downstairs, there 
 was a veil of ugly modernity thrown over the char- 
 acter of the place : two or three pieces of fine old fur- 
 niture stood against the walls, but in glaring contrast 
 to their dark solidity, a new brass bedstead flaunted 
 its existence, while curtains of limp art muslin hung 
 from the massive cornices of the windows. Isabel 
 condemned the taste that had conceived these decora- 
 tions, as she handed her coat to the servant and went 
 across to the dressing-table to take off her hat. "If 
 I had her money!" she thought; and she heaved a 
 sigh. 
 
 "Would you like a comb, Miss Costello? Though 
 indeed 'twould be a sin to touch your hair." 
 
 "No, thanks ! I don't want a comb." Isabel looked 
 into the glass, twisting up a stray lock or two, while 
 Julia watched her with burning interest. 
 
 "I suppose you're glad to be back again, miss ? You 
 were a long time away at school," she suggested, un- 
 able to suppress her curiosity. 
 
 "Oh, yes; I'm glad." 
 
 "I suppose you don't remember me, Miss Costello, 
 though I remember you?" 
 
 Isabel looked round. "How do you remember me?" 
 
 Julia was satisfied, having at last drawn forth some 
 expression of interest. "Oh, indeed 'tis well I remem- 
 ber you when you were a little thing. You were like 
 a gipsy, I remember so dark. Me and the other 
 girls at Mr. Nagle's used to be admiring you that 
 time."
 
 100 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Did you live at the Nagles'?" 
 
 "Indeed I did, miss. I lived there seven years before 
 I went to Mr. Morris's." 
 
 Isabel looked reflective. "I remember the Nagles' 
 big gate just opposite our house," she said. "Fancy 
 your being there !" Then a new look crossed her face. 
 "Did you ever see my mother?" she asked in a lower 
 tone. 
 
 Julia's face became sympathetic at once. "No, 
 miss ; God be merciful to her ! I never saw Mrs. Cos- 
 tello, though many a time I remember Mary Ahern, 
 the cook, telling me the handsome-looking lady she 
 was, and the terrible way poor Mr. Costello was broke 
 up after her. I believe 'tfs walking the roads all 
 night he used to be, till they were afraid his mind 
 wouldn't hold out. But, God bless us, there's the 
 hall-door bell again! I must go. Are you ready, 
 miss ?" 
 
 Silenced by the thought of the shadow that had 
 darkened her house, Isabel followed the maid out of 
 the room and down the stairs ; but at the door of the 
 drawing-room the moment with its immediate de- 
 mands ousted the past, and her mind swung back to 
 the thought of the ordeal to come. 
 
 With the flurried consciousness of the unanswered 
 bell, Julia threw open the drawing-room door, made 
 an unintelligible murmur that might have been taken 
 for the guest's name, and hurriedly withdrew, leaving 
 Isabel alone upon the threshold. 
 
 For a moment she stood uncomfortably aware of
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 101 
 
 a very large room, filled with a multitude of chairs, 
 cabinets, mirrors, and small tables, and of a group 
 of three men and three women gathered round 
 the fire-place at its farthest end: then, to her in- 
 tense relief Daisy Carey separated herself from 
 the little circle and came forward with effusive 
 haste. 
 
 "Oh, Isabel ! How are you ! How nice of you to 
 come. Stephen isn't here yet he telephoned from 
 the office that he'll be a little late. You know Mrs. 
 Power and Mary ! Let me introduce Father Cun- 
 ningham and Father Baron and my brother, Tom!" 
 With a friendliness in striking contrast to her previ- 
 ous manner, she took Isabel's arm and drew her into 
 the party. 
 
 Isabel herself, rather confused by this change of 
 attitude, bowed vaguely to the two priests and to a 
 fair-haired boy of twenty, and suffered Mary, who 
 was evidently following Daisy's lead, to touch her 
 cheek with the semblance of a kiss. 
 
 "How are you, Isabel ! Were you in time for your 
 appointment on Sunday?" 
 
 Isabel coloured, and was glad to sink into the chair 
 that Tom Norris pushed forward for her. 
 
 To her great relief, nobody took any further notice 
 of her, and presently the little group dropped back 
 into its former order, and the conversation she had 
 interrupted was taken up again. 
 
 "What we want in this movement is organisation!" 
 said Norris.
 
 102 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "What you want in every movement is money, if you 
 ask me!" said Mary. 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't bring in a mercenary spirit, Miss 
 Norris," objected Father Cunningham, the younger 
 of the two priests, who had a pale, eager face and 
 wore the gold cross of the total abstinence pledge on 
 his black watch-chain. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't remonstrate with her," Norris 
 broke in. "It's sickening to think of what women 
 could do and don't, just because the thing isn't 
 fashionable !" 
 
 "I think it's sickening to be called a 'woman' by your 
 own brother!" 
 
 Norris laughed involuntarily. "But seriously, 
 Polly," he said, "look what you and Daisy could do, 
 if you cared a straw! You could start classes in 
 private houses, like they do in London." 
 
 "Public houses suit the scholars here ever so much 
 better. Don't they, Father Cunningham?" 
 
 "Oh, well, of course, if that's your attitude " 
 
 Norris shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "But, Tom," Daisy put in plaintively, "how on earth 
 could I do anything with Stephen and the children?" 
 
 "Well, Mary hasn't any children!" 
 
 "I like that! As if I hadn't a father -worse than 
 thirty children ! I'd like to see how many lectures 
 you'd give, and how many classes you'd attend, if 
 you had to mend father's socks! Here's Stephen, 
 Daisy! I heard the hall door shut." 
 
 This announcement put a stop to further argument,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 103 
 
 and a few minutes afterwards Carey himself entered. 
 He looked very tall and strong in the fading daylight 
 that filled the room, and as he joined the little circle 
 it seemed that he brought with him a breath of the 
 outer air, the vitality and energy of the outer world. 
 
 He took Isabel's hand first of all, and although his 
 greeting was ordinary, the friendly pressure of his 
 fingers banished her diffidence, and she unconsciously 
 lifted her head, looking out upon the scene with re- 
 newed self-confidence. 
 
 There was a moment or two of fragmentary talk, 
 then Daisy rose; and, without preserving any par- 
 ticular order, the party straggled out of the room 
 and downstairs. In the dining-room the big gasalier 
 above the dinner-table was blazing with light, and on 
 the table itself a display of the old cut glass for 
 which Waterford is famous cast back the light from 
 its facets, while the silver, of which Daisy was justly 
 proud, was burnished to look its best. The higher 
 refinements of civilisation may not be found in such 
 households as the Norris's and the Careys', but an 
 amazing number of valuable articles are handed down 
 from generation to generation in these middle-class 
 families, and the pantry of many an Irish housekeeper 
 would fill the collector with envy. 
 
 When the party had sorted itself out and the seats 
 round the large table were all occupied, it proved that 
 Isabel's place was between young Norris and Father 
 Baron. Very little was said while the soup and fish 
 were eaten, for a meal in Ireland usually means a meal ;
 
 104 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 but when the cover was removed from a joint of beef, 
 and Carey entered on the task of carving, ideas began 
 to stir again and the hum of opinions to make itself 
 heard. 
 
 "Well, Father James, you were very silent up in the 
 drawing-room!" Norris remarked, leaning across 
 Isabel. "How is the movement going on down at 
 Scarragh?" 
 
 Father James Baron was a man of sixty-eight, with 
 a high colour, grizzled hair, and a wide mouth tem- 
 pered with the love of his kind. He was priest of the 
 smallest and most insignificant parish in his diocese, 
 and a man of little worldly polish; but something 
 deeper than the learning of books looked out of his 
 small eyes, and when he spoke his listeners attended, 
 however homely the words might be. There was true 
 metal in the man, and it could be felt without explana- 
 tion that it had been tempered in the furnace. He 
 turned slowly now, and looked at Tom with the 
 humorous indulgence of a father to his child. 
 *'Well ! well ! well !" he said slowly. "And is it a lit- 
 tle place like Scarragh you're going to turn your 
 hand to now?" 
 
 "We must have every place interested, Father 
 James," Norris retorted quickly. "No place is too 
 small. What we want is undivided interest." 
 
 Isabel could restrain her curiosity no longer. "What 
 is it you're talking about?" she said. "I'd simply 
 love to know !" 
 
 Norris's face lighted up, full of enthusiasm at once.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 105 
 
 "Why, the great new movement," he said. "The 
 Gaelic movement. Haven't you heard of all it's do- 
 ing?" 
 
 "The Gaelic movement?" 
 
 "Yes," put in Mary across the table, "all the chil- 
 dren in the National Schools can say their prayers in 
 Irish now, and in a lot of the towns they've written 
 up the name of the streets in Irish. It gives them 
 quite a nice foreign look for tourists !" 
 
 "Indeed, Mary, you're too hard on them," said Mrs. 
 Power amiably. "You ought to be very glad that 
 your brother has such nice quiet tastes, instead of 
 betting and playing cards like so many of the young 
 men." She heaved a placid sigh, recalling her own 
 son's peccadillos, which she was far too lazily indul- 
 gent to check. 
 
 Carey looked up from cutting the last piece of beef. 
 "Take a hint from that, Mary," he said. "Marry 
 a man with nice quiet Gaelic tastes !" 
 
 Mary coloured with annoyance, and was about to 
 make a sharp retort, when her brother seized the si- 
 lence to urge his own opinions. "Don't listen to them, 
 Miss Costello!" he said earnestly. "It's people like 
 them that have kept Ireland where she is. We'd have 
 been a nation long ago a nation in the commercial 
 and intellectual sense only for the poisonous spirit 
 of depreciation that's spread over every honest effort 
 to raise the country. Look at Stephen ! He's an in- 
 telligent man, and yet he wouldn't raise a finger " 
 
 "Steady, Tom ! I had both my hands to the plough
 
 106 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 once only we called it the Land League then, not 
 the Gaelic movement. You'll always have young 
 men, you know; but Ireland won't be changed by 
 that." 
 
 "I don't think you're right, Mr. Carey," broke in 
 Father Cunningham with the quick heat of the zealot. 
 "The Land League, of course, was purely political. 
 This is altogether different. It's when you begin to 
 educate a country that you begin to progress." 
 
 "No doubt !" said Carey. "But are you prepared to 
 educate Ireland? You might teach the new generation 
 to talk in German, as far as that goes, but unless you 
 allowed its mind to run in German grooves, you'd 
 be leaving it exactly where it was. Are you going 
 to teach the new generation to express itself in differ- 
 ent sounds, or are you going to give it new ideas to 
 express? That's the question, as I see it." 
 
 "The proper vehicle of expression must be the native 
 tongue," said Norris hotly. "Once teach the people 
 to speak and write in the natural language of the 
 country, and you'll soon have the national spirit wak- 
 ing up. Why has Ireland one of the most poetic 
 countries in the world no modern national litera- 
 ture? Simply and solely because she was thrown back 
 again into infancy by being made to think and speak 
 and write in a new language, when she was practically 
 a fully developed nation !" 
 
 "Wait a minute, Tom!" Carey paused in the cut- 
 ting of his own dinner. "You people hold that when 
 England robbed us of our language, she threw us
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 107 
 
 back into a sort of national childhood out of which 
 we are now slowly struggling?" 
 
 "Certainly ! Certainly, we do ! I'd like to know 
 if any one can refute it!" 
 
 "Very well! And what are you trying to do your- 
 selves? You're trying with might and main to do 
 what England did in the penal days ! You're send- 
 ing Ireland back to school !" He took up his tumbler 
 and drank some water with the hasty manner of a 
 man whose temper is stirred. "Now that she has been 
 trounced into learning her English, for goodness' 
 sake, let her do what she can with that, instead of set- 
 ting her down to a dead language ! If you want ad- 
 vancement, let it be educational by all means ; but let 
 the education be modern ! Souse the country with 
 modern thought Spencer and Huxley, Haeckel and 
 Kant and be hanged to sentimentality !" 
 
 There was silence after his outburst. Daisy looked 
 frightened; Father Cunningham excited; and the 
 older priest anxious. 
 
 "Those are dangerous writers, Mr. Carey," said 
 Father Cunningham. "I'd be very sorry to see Catho- 
 lic Ireland reading such men as Haeckel." 
 
 "That sounds like weakness ! If you are sure of 
 your flock, you shouldn't be afraid of new pastures." 
 
 "A dangerous doctrine!" 
 
 A retort rose to Carey's lips, but on the instant of 
 its utterance his eye caught Father Baron's, and, 
 with a curious change of attitude, he shrugged his 
 shoulders and dropped the aggressive tone.
 
 108 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Well, Father James, and what's your opinion?" 
 he substituted. 
 
 Father Baron looked infinitely relieved. "Well, 
 Stephen," he said slowly, "I think, after all, 'tis good 
 for young men to be at something, so long as it isn't 
 mischief; but I'm inclined to agree with you that 
 whether it's Young Ireland or the Land League or the 
 Gaelic movement, 'twill all be the same in a hundred 
 years !" 
 
 Carey laughed, half despondently, half sarcastically. 
 "That's it !" he said. "That's it ! 'The brave days 
 when we were twenty-one' !" His voice dropped ; and 
 Isabel, who alone among the party was listening to 
 his words and not to his opinions, shot an involuntary 
 glance at him from under her lashes, and by a swift 
 flash of intuition it seemed to her that in imagination 
 she could hear the whirr of the great machine of which 
 he had discoursed in the room at New Town. 
 
 Except for a feeble murmuring of gossip between 
 Daisy and Mrs. Power, conversation flagged after 
 this, while the meat was removed and a pudding placed 
 upon the table, for no Irishman can be impersonal 
 when his feelings are seething; and under the out- 
 ward appearance of conviviality, one could feel 
 Father Cunningham and Norris thirsting to break 
 bounds. 
 
 At last the pudding gave way to dessert; the cloth 
 was removed, fruit and port were placed upon the 
 table, and Julia withdrew for the last time. 
 
 As the door closed upon her, Tom took a handful
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 109 
 
 of walnuts from a dish, and began to crack them os- 
 tentatiously. "I'd like to know, Stephen," he said in 
 an aggressive voice, "what exactly you mean when 
 you talk about sentimentality?" 
 
 Daisy made a hasty little movement, and locked 
 appealingly at Mrs. Power. 
 
 "They're going to begin again !" she said in a whis- 
 per. "I think we'll go upstairs, unless anybody wants 
 fruit." 
 
 Mrs. Power and Isabel disclaimed all wish to eat, 
 and the three stood up simultaneously, while Mary, 
 who was nothing if not leisurely, rose last of all, 
 picked up a handful of raisins, and strolled slowly 
 after them to the door.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 "WHAT fools men are!" said Mary, as she calmly 
 mounted the stairs in Daisy's wake, putting one 
 raisin after another into her mouth. "Look at Tom ! 
 He's really awfully clever, and father spent a fortune 
 on educating him; and what does he go and do now 
 just when he might be of some use to Daisy and 
 me but take up this Gaelic thing! Teaching the 
 people, indeed ! As if they didn't know far too much 
 as it is! I'm sure it's harder to get servants every 
 year." 
 
 "Indeed, that's true," Daisy agreed, as they passed 
 into the drawing-room. "Only yesterday nurse actu- 
 ally refused to take baby out, because she had been 
 kept awake the night before. And I pay her eigh- 
 teen pounds a-year !" 
 
 "My dear, much too much ! I never gave a nurse 
 more than fourteen and never would." 
 
 "But what's the good of that, Mrs. Power, when 
 they won't come for less?" 
 
 "You should be firm," advised Mrs. Power, whose 
 management of her own establishment was lax in the 
 extreme. 
 
 Daisy sank into a low chair, and began to twist the 
 rings on her pretty, useless-looking fingers. "I do 
 try," she murmured, "but really, you know, they're 
 awful and children are such a responsibility."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 111 
 
 Mrs. Power laughed, as she sank into a seat. "Three 
 children a responsibility ! Look at me, with nine ! But 
 we mustn't be talking about responsibilities, or we'll 
 be making the girls afraid to get married at all !" 
 
 Mary, who was eating her last raisin, glanced round 
 at this. "Indeed, you won't find me marrying, Mrs. 
 Power." 
 
 Mrs. Power smiled with superior wisdom. "We all 
 said that once, Mary. But you'll be caught one of 
 these days, all the same." 
 
 "Well, then, I have still to meet the man!" 
 
 Daisy and Mrs. Power exchanged a swift glance, to 
 which Mary considerably pretended to be blind. 
 
 "Isn't that a bad compliment, now, to the Waterford 
 men, Miss Costello?" said Mrs. Power, turning to 
 Isabel and drawing her into the conversation. "I 
 hope you aren't going to be so fastidious." 
 
 The suggestion was a little awkward, considering 
 the secret shared by three of the party as to Isabel's 
 broken engagement, but Isabel received it frankly and 
 without embarrassment. "I don't know that I'll ever 
 marry anybody, Mrs. Power." 
 
 Mrs. Power looked up at her, as she stood behind 
 Daisy's chair; and something a little lonely, a Tittle 
 aloof in the solitary figure and the uncommon face, 
 touched her motherly nature. 
 
 "Ah, my dear, I won't have you saying that !" She 
 put out her hand and took possession of Isabel's. "I'll 
 find a husband for you whether you like it or not !" 
 
 Isabel flushed, her expression softening, her eyes
 
 112 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 lighting at the kindly thought for her welfare. "Oh, 
 thank you !" she said. "I mean, thank you for caring 
 whether I get married or not !" 
 
 Mary gave a faint little laugh. 
 
 Isabel's flush deepened, but from a new emotion. 
 "Why did you laugh?" she said, turning quickly 
 round. 
 
 Mary looked at her coolly. "Oh, no reason ! It just 
 amused me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "No reason!" 
 
 Mrs. Power felt the hand she was holding tremble, 
 and she pressed it soothingly. "Don't mind Mary !" 
 she said. "She doesn't mean half she says. Arid, 
 indeed, if you don't marry, it won't be the men's 
 fault. I'll venture to say that." 
 
 "I'd only marry for one reason," Isabel said sud- 
 denly, "and if I hadn't that reason, all the people in 
 the world couldn't persuade me." 
 
 "And what's that?" Daisy asked curiously. 
 
 "The reason of caring for the person." 
 
 Daisy laughed. "Love in a cottage?" she suggested 
 a little patronisingly. 
 
 Isabel's dark eyes flashed. "If I cared, I'd marry 
 a beggar ; and if I didn't care, it wouldn't matter to 
 me if the person was a king." 
 
 The three listeners fell silent for a moment. To 
 Mrs. Power, with her long life and superior experi- 
 ence, Isabel's declaration seemed merely the folly of 
 a jwung girl just out of school; while to Daisy it ap-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL US 
 
 peared the cunning of one who had lately been worsted 
 in a vital social encounter ; to Mary alone out of the 
 party, it suggested something more offering sudden 
 glimpses into the depths and shallows of the nature 
 behind the words. 
 
 Isabel looked round from one face to the other. "I 
 suppose I oughtn't to have said that !" 
 
 Mrs. Power laughed and patted her hand. "My 
 dear child, say anything you like! But you have 
 plenty of time to be thinking of love! And that re- 
 minds me, I told Josephine to write you a little note, 
 asking you up to tennis. You have seven boys of 
 mine still to meet, you know." 
 
 Isabel thanked her by a look ; and Daisy, influenced 
 at once by the fact of the invitation, drew her chair 
 nearer. 
 
 "Indeed, we all want to see more of Isabel," she said. 
 "She mustn't be a stranger any more. Mary, will 
 you ring for tea? I don't know what they can be 
 doing downstairs." 
 
 And so the talk became less personal; and with the 
 arrival of tea, the two married women drifted towards 
 the table on which Julia placed the tray. As Daisy 
 filled up the cups, their voices imperceptibly dropped 
 to the gossiping key. and Isabel and Mary found 
 themselves shut out into an undesired companionship. 
 
 Taking their cups from Daisy, they wandered away, 
 as in duty bound, towards the other end of the room. 
 Mary was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry 
 if I was nasty while ago," she said, laying her cup on
 
 114 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the top of the piano. In the few moments that had 
 passed since Mrs. Power's invitation, she had decided 
 that a little trimming of sails would be necessary if 
 her boat and Isabel's were to float upon the same 
 waters. "Everybody is a bit cross now and then, 
 don't you think?" 
 
 Isabel, fully conscious of her own erratic moods, saw 
 an impulse of remorse in the words, and met it gen- 
 erously. " 'Twas nothing !" she said. "I was nasty, 
 too. Let us forget about it !" 
 
 "Yes; I want to. Do you play?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you mind if I play?" 
 
 "Oh, no! I love music." 
 
 Mary seated herself at the piano and began to play 
 passing carelessly from classical music to the new- 
 est comic song. She played well, almost brilliantly, 
 with a hard, sharp touch; and as she played, she 
 looked up at Isabel, who was leaning over the piano 
 and watching her with interested eyes. "Is there any- 
 thing you'd like? I can play most things by ear." 
 
 Isabel hesitated; then she said, "Play that waltz, 
 'Amoureuse.' ' 
 
 Immediately Mary complied, and after a few bars 
 looked up again. "They played that at Fair Hill. 
 'Twas the waltz you danced with Stephen." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 There was another pause, and again Mary's quick 
 green eyes were lifted. "How do you get on with 
 Stephen?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 115 
 
 Isabel drew back a little. "Get on with him? Oh, 
 I don't know ! All right, I think." 
 
 "And what do you think of him?" 
 
 "Think of him? How?" 
 
 "As a person." 
 
 "Oh, I I don't know." 
 
 Mary looked down at the keys, and the waltz became 
 slower. "He's a queer fish Stephen ! He hates the 
 very sight of me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps I see through 
 him more than other people do and he hates being 
 seen through." 
 
 Isabel's lips parted in quick question, but they closed 
 again at the sound of an opening door. "Oh, here 
 they are !" she said. 
 
 Mary glanced over her shoulder at the four men 
 entering the room. "Yes, here they are when they 
 want their tea !" And the waltz came to a conclusion 
 with a few crashing chords. 
 
 The last words of the discussion were evidently hot 
 upon the men's lips, and Norris and Father Cunning- 
 ham made at once for the tea-table, where Tom, with 
 a careless nod to Daisy, poured out two cups of 
 tea. 
 
 "Well, I think we did for them!" he said in a low 
 voice. "We didn't leave Stephen a leg to stand on." 
 
 The young priest stirred his tea thoughtfully. "I 
 don't like your brother-in-law's views," he said. 
 "They're dangerous views for an influential man."
 
 116 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Tom laughed. "Oh, Stephen doesn't mean all he 
 says !" 
 
 "Perhaps not! I hope not!" 
 
 "Of course not! You're a regular pessimist some- 
 times." 
 
 Father Cunningham still stirred his tea absent-mind- 
 edly. 
 
 "He's a very able man !" he said in the same musing 
 undertone. 
 
 "Able? You may say that! There are few men 
 the equal of Stephen, when he cares to show it. Hallo ! 
 They're not going, are they? Is it as late as that?" 
 
 "Indeed, it is, Tom!" Mrs. Power caught the last 
 words, as she rose to say good-bye. "It's time for all 
 good people to be thinking of their homes." 
 
 "What nonsense, Mrs. Power ! The night is young !" 
 
 " 'Tis, Tom for young people. But 'tis time for 
 me to be thinking of my family." 
 
 "Indeed you needn't trouble about your family! 
 You'll find them all playing bridge." 
 
 She laughed good-naturedly. "All the more reason 
 to go home and pack them off to bed. Good-night, 
 Daisy! It's been a delightful evening." 
 
 Daisy protested prettily: "Oh, no, Mrs. Power! 
 You're not going ! Please don't go !" 
 
 "I must, dear. I must, really. I promised to be 
 back early. But don't let me break up the party!" 
 
 But the going of one guest set the minds of the 
 others tending towards departure, and one by one ex- 
 cuses were made. Father Cunningham had a six
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 117 
 
 o'clock mass to say next morning; Father Baron had 
 to catch the last train to Scarragh ; and finally Isabel 
 pleaded that Miss Costello would be expecting her 
 soon after ten. 
 
 In a very few minutes all the good-byes had been 
 said, and the four women had left to seek the spare 
 room and the guests' wraps. 
 
 "Your dinners are always such a success, Daisy !" 
 Mrs. Power murmured, as she tied her bonnet-strings. 
 "I don't know how it is, but somehow you have the 
 knack of entertaining." 
 
 Daisy, who had no more knowledge of entertaining 
 than a child of three, smiled delightedly at the harm- 
 less flattery. "Indeed, I don't know!" she demurred, 
 "I don't think I do much !" 
 
 "Ah, you say that! But I must be off! How is 
 Miss Costello going home? It would be nothing for 
 me to drive round with her, if she hasn't told anybody 
 to call." 
 
 "Oh, no !" Isabel protested. "It's altogether out of 
 your way; 'twas too kind of you to do it the night 
 of the dance." 
 
 "Not at all! The horse hasn't been out before to- 
 day, and a little exercise would do him good." 
 
 "Oh, no, Mrs. Power," Daisy expostulated. "Tom 
 will take Isabel home." 
 
 Mrs. Power smiled knowingly. "Ah, well then, I 
 wouldn't take her for the world ! Good-night, Daisy, 
 dear! Mary, I think Josephine is expecting you up 
 to-morrow! Good-night, my dear I'll have to call
 
 118 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 you Isabel Miss Costello is altogether too stiff!" 
 She kissed all three in turn, and then bustled out of 
 the room and down to the hall, where she had another 
 effusive farewell with Carey, Norris, and the two 
 priests. 
 
 When the door closed on her, Carey turned to 
 Daisy. "Who's going to take Miss Costello 
 home?" 
 
 "Tom is," Mary interposed before her sister could 
 reply. 
 
 "Oh! All right!" Carey turned aside and joined 
 Father Baron ; while Mary's eyes, maliciously humor- 
 ous, flashed over Isabel's face. 
 
 "It's too bad !" Isabel said quickly. "I could easily 
 go by myself." 
 
 "Oh, Tom won't mind, I assure you !" 
 
 "What's that, Polly?" 
 
 "I'm saying that you don't particularly object to 
 seeing girls home." 
 
 Tom laughed. "Not if Miss Costello is one of them ! 
 Are you ready now, Miss Costello? I won't keep you 
 a minute." He disappeared into the recesses of the 
 hall, and returned with his cap on and his arm 
 through the sleeve of his coat. 
 
 "Now we're ready !" he announced cheerfully. "Give 
 me a lift, Father John !" 
 
 Father Cunningham helped him into his coat, while 
 Carey went forward to open the hall door. 
 
 Isabel kissed Daisy and Mary, shook hands with the 
 priests, and then followed Tom, who had already
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 119 
 
 stepped out into the street, humming a patriotic tune. 
 On the threshold Carey put out his hand. 
 
 "Good-night, Miss Costello ! We hadn't a word at 
 all this evening." 
 
 Isabel said nothing. 
 
 "Next time, perhaps !" 
 
 "Perhaps !" She looked up and they both 
 smiled. 
 
 "Good-night !" 
 
 "Good-night!" The hall door closed, and she was 
 alone with Norris. 
 
 They turned out of Lady Lane in silence, but as 
 they crossed the Mall he broke forth once more in 
 his usual enthusiastic spirit. "Well, Miss Costello, 
 and what do you think of your native town, now that 
 you are back again?" 
 
 "Well, it seems rather strange," Isabel answered 
 thoughtfully, "or I am strange, I don't know 
 which it is." 
 
 Tom nodded sagely. "Do you know, I felt just the 
 same myself," he confided to her, "when I came home 
 from college. There's no use denying it, you know, 
 it seems a bit narrow at first." 
 
 "And you have to squeeze down to fit it ?" 
 
 "Ah, well, no ! Ah, no ! I wouldn't say that. You 
 know, we're an interesting people, Miss Costello, 
 wherever we are only it doesn't show up at first in 
 places like Waterford." 
 
 Isabel did not at once subscribe to this, and Tom 
 branched off into a new channel. "Tell me, now,"
 
 120 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 he said, "weren't you at school in Dublin, before you 
 went abroad?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, ever since my father died. I only went 
 to France two years ago." 
 
 "And did they take any interest at all there in the 
 new movement? Did they open your minds at all to 
 the future of Ireland?" 
 
 Isabel laughed. "I don't know that they opened our 
 minds to anything." 
 
 "There you are !" Tom threw out his arms in vivid 
 despair. "There you are ! How on earth are we go- 
 ing to form the nation when women are turned out 
 in batches year by year with French and German at 
 their fingers' ends, and no more knowledge of their 
 own language than infants in arms !" 
 
 Isabel laughed again. "I don't know about fingers* 
 ends !" she said. "I was able to say my prayers in 
 French when I went to Paris, but that was about all." 
 
 "What a shame !" Tom cried, following his own 
 train of thought. "The most receptive years of your 
 life lost ! But it's not too late, you know ; it's not too 
 late! I wish, Miss Costello, you'd interest yourself 
 in the cause. If we could only induce the educated 
 women to take it up seriously, we could move moun- 
 tains." 
 
 "And do you think it will do any real good?" Isabel 
 ventured. 
 
 "Good?" He turned on her, aflame with enthusiasm 
 in a moment the enthusiasm that has sent Irishmen 
 down to death in the wake of lost causes for more
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 121 
 
 generations than one cares to count. "Good? Why, 
 it's going to make a nation of us ! It's going to lift 
 us to the level of the rest of Europe! It's the one 
 movement that has really touched the bed-rock of 
 things that has a sound and true foundation. I'm 
 not tiring you?" He looked up, as he felt her steps 
 slacken. 
 
 "Oh, no ! It's only that we're here. This is my 
 aunt's." 
 
 His face fell. "Oh, I wish I could have told you 
 more! The walk was miserably short. But let me 
 ring the bell for you !" He strode up the little path 
 before her, and rang the bell loudly. 
 
 "Does it interest you at all?" he asked, as he turned 
 to say good-night. 
 
 "Oh, I think it's it's most interesting." 
 
 "I'm so glad. I'm so glad. I must talk to you again. 
 Good-bye! And thanks for a most delightful 
 walk !" He wrung her hand cordially, and turned 
 away, as they heard the chain being taken off the 
 door. 
 
 As he walked down the path, the door itself was 
 opened, and Miss Costello's face appeared in the aper- 
 ture: almost before she had seen her niece, she broke 
 volubly into speech. 
 
 "Oh, Isabel !" she cried. "I thought you'd never be 
 back! Such a time as I have had! There's a tele- 
 gram for you that came at eight o'clock. I half 
 thought of sending Lizzie up with it to the Careys', 
 but then I didn't."
 
 122 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Thank goodness, you didn't!" said Isabel, as she 
 walked into the hall. 
 
 "Well, here 'tis now, any way!" She held out the 
 orange envelope. "Open it! Open it, and see what 
 it is ! I have an awful sort of a feeling that it's from 
 Frank." 
 
 "From Frank? Nonsense!" But Isabel turned a 
 little pale as she walked towards the gas-jet, tearing 
 the envelope open. 
 
 For a moment she stood reading the message with a 
 calm that reduced Miss Costello to despair; then she 
 held out the thin pink paper. 
 
 "You're quite right, Aunt Teresa!" she said in a 
 dazed voice. "It is from Frank. He's got my letter, 
 and he's coming back to see me. He'll be here to- 
 morrow."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE arrival of this telegram from Frank Carey had 
 something of the force and decimating power of a 
 bomb exploding in peaceful surroundings. Under 
 any circumstances the coming of a telegram causes 
 excitement in such households as Miss Costello's ; but 
 when the fateful envelope holds within it such news 
 as this, excitement cools before actual panic. 
 
 Isabel's first desire was to sink into the solitary chair 
 that graced the hall ; but that being already in pos- 
 session of her aunt, she was forced to accept the near- 
 est substitute, which proved to be the lowest step of 
 the stairs ; and from this coign of vantage she looked 
 out blankly upon the situation. 
 
 "To-morrow!" she ejaculated. "To-morrow! That 
 means he'll get in by the boat at some unearthly hour 
 in the morning !" 
 
 Miss Costello, who was still scrutinising the tele- 
 gram, answered from her own thoughts. "He handed 
 this in just before the boat left," she said. "He's 
 actually on his way now." 
 
 Isabel made a gesture of despair. "What'll his 
 brother think !" she cried. "He'll think I didn't prop- 
 erly break it off. Oh, what on earth possessed him 
 to do such a thing ! What on earth possessed him !" 
 
 "Your letter, of course! I must say I feel for the 
 poor fellow!"
 
 124 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And why should my letter make him do such a 
 thing? I think it's mean I think it's downright 
 mean to come in on us like this ! Never to give us a 
 chance of writing never to give us a chance of stop- 
 ping him !" Her voice rose with her distress, and, 
 urged to action, she stood up suddenly. 
 
 "I won't see him when he does come !" she announced. 
 "I don't see why I should ! You can see him for me, 
 and tell him I meant every word I wrote, and that 
 nothing in the world would make me take it back. 
 Why should I have to see him? Why should he tor- 
 ment me like this, just because I don't want to marry 
 -him?" 
 
 Miss Costello, finding no pertinent answer, resorted 
 to strategy. "If you really want to get rid of him," 
 she said, " 'twould be ever so much quicker to talk to 
 him yourself. It's so hard for another person to get 
 a man to see reason." 
 
 Isabel considered the statement. "Well, perhaps so !" 
 she admitted reluctantly. "Perhaps so! I suppose 
 so !" She crossed the hall, took up her bedroom can- 
 dle, and, to her aunt's unfeigned surprise, walked up- 
 stairs without further remark. 
 
 That night she slept but little, tossing from side to 
 side of her uncomfortable bed, and the early hours 
 of the following morning found her waiting in the 
 parlour, listening with high-strung nerves to every 
 sound that might presage the unwelcome guest. 
 
 To those who would call Isabel cruel in the meeting 
 of this crisis, one might point to the law of all created
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 125 
 
 things. There is no cruelty in the cat that crouches, 
 all grace, all deft agility, to pounce upon a bird ; nor 
 is there cruelty in the bird, hopping bright and vig- 
 ilant to destroy a lower life for its own sustenance. 
 Each is alive, and each to the utmost limit of its power 
 exercises its gift. Such was Isabel to be judged as 
 such. As she sat on the old horsehair sofa, her fingers 
 nervously drumming out a tune upon its slippery 
 surface, there was no regret in her mind there was 
 scarcely even pride at the thought that her sentence 
 could bring a man hurrying across two countries to 
 plead his cause with her: her racing thoughts sped 
 to one question how would this new contingency 
 affect her own life? 
 
 In the midst of her cogitations a car stopped on 
 the road outside, the garden gate clicked and swung 
 upon its hinges, and her fingers slipped inert from 
 the back of the sofa in sudden acknowledgment that 
 the crisis was at hand. 
 
 She was standing when the parlour door opened, 
 her arms hanging by her sides, her head lifted in 
 nervous expectancy, and almost before her mind had 
 grappled with the situation, she caught a vision of 
 Lizzie's face, scared and inquisitive, and behind it 
 Frank's colourless, jaded, unfamiliar from want of 
 sleep and lack of a razor. It is the details of a scene 
 that call to the imagination in critical moments ; and 
 it was the detail of the unshaven chin that sprang to 
 Isabel's mind with the rapidity and force of a light- 
 ning shaft. It might be subtly flattering in its testi-
 
 126 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 mony of unsparing haste, but as a fact it was revolt- 
 ing, chaining her feet to the ground, making it im- 
 possible even to hold out her hand. 
 
 The door closed upon the servant; Frank hesitated 
 for a moment, then took an uneven step forward. 
 
 "Isabel! Have you nothing to say to me? I've 
 come all the way from Paris !" The words were pa- 
 thetic, and there was pathos in the weak, emotional 
 face in the hollow eyes, in the protruding lower lip 
 that seemed on the verge of quivering; but these 
 things went down, marks as black as the unshaven 
 chin, against the hapless lover. 
 
 "Isabel! What does it all mean? Haven't you a 
 word to say ?" 
 
 Then, and only then, did Isabel conquer her repug- 
 nance. "Oh, why did you come back?" she cried in- 
 distinctly. "Why did you come back at all ?" 
 
 "Why? You know why!" He made an ungainly 
 forward movement, and caught one of her hands. 
 "Isabel, what is it ? Don't try to get away !" 
 
 "Let me go, Frank ! Let my hand go !" 
 
 "No, I won't let it go. I have a right to hold it. 
 We're engaged still." 
 
 "We are not engaged." She wrenched her hand 
 away. 
 
 "Isabel ! What's the meaning of it all? It's Stephen 
 who's done this!" 
 
 She flushed to her temples. "It is not! He has 
 nothing to do with it!" 
 
 "Then who has?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 127 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "That's ridiculous ! Something must have happened 
 to change you like this. In Paris you cared for me 
 in Paris you were willing enough to marry me." 
 
 She stood with her eyes averted, an obstinate line 
 showing round her mouth. 
 
 "Isabel, some one has done this !" 
 
 Suddenly her glance flashed up to his. "Nobody has 
 done it," she said sharply. "If you want to know 
 the truth, it's because I don't care for you any more 
 because I'm tired of you because I'd rather die 
 than marry you now !" 
 
 This onslaught, so sudden and vehement, seemed to 
 sober him, as a shock might sober a drunken man. 
 
 He turned very white and subsided into a chair that 
 stood by the centre table. There he sat for a long 
 time, huddled and inarticulate, until slowly, imper- 
 ceptibly, the Celtic flair for an emotional situation 
 prompted him to action. The prompting was en- 
 tirely instinctive, and his response to it entirely un- 
 conscious ; but a world of suggestion was conveyed by 
 the slow straightening of his body, by the slow move- 
 ment of his ringers, as they groped cautiously towards 
 his waistcoat pocket and fumbled there in a blind, 
 clumsy search. 
 
 Isabel, strung to emotion herself, and attuned to 
 receive the subtlest impression, felt her heart give a 
 hard, quick throb. 
 
 "Frank, what have you there in your pocket ? What 
 are you doing?"
 
 128 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "But I see you fumbling with something. What is 
 it? What is it?" 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction, overstrained and hysteri- 
 cal, flickered in Frank's eyes; he threw a glance of 
 triumph at her frightened face. "All right so!" he 
 said suddenly. "I'll tell you what it is. It's some- 
 thing that'll end the business for me, if you want to 
 know. A fellow isn't a doctor for nothing." He 
 pulled out a little phial containing half a dozen 
 tabloids, and held it up before her. 
 
 It is impossible to tell in what spirit of bravado or 
 youthful conceit he had provided himself with this 
 weapon, but he launched it now with full effect. 
 
 "Oh, no, a fellow isn't a doctor for nothing !" he re- 
 peated. "I have only to swallow one of these, and 
 I can tell you, women and the rest won't matter much 
 to me !" 
 
 Isabel stared, then she made a little rush forward. 
 
 "Frank ! Frank, don't be a fool !" 
 
 She had wrested the phial from him before he 
 thought of resistance, and stood, half laughing, half 
 panting. 
 
 "Frank, Frank, 'tisn't worth that !" 
 
 Then she paused again, newly dismayed, for Frank 
 in a moment of acute reaction had thrown his arms 
 out across the table, and burying his face in his sleeve, 
 had broken suddenly into boyish hysterical sobs. 
 
 For a couple of minutes she stood petrified; then 
 a sense of shame for him urged her to words.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 129 
 
 "Frank, don't ! Don't ! I'm sorry !" 
 
 "But do you care for me, that's the thing ? Do you 
 care?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "Do you care?" He lifted a face grotesquely 
 marred by emotion, weariness, and tears. "Oh, you 
 don't ! I can see you don't ! I'm sick of life !" His 
 head dropped back again. 
 
 "No, Frank, you're not !" She girded up her cour- 
 age and slipped the little bottle surreptitiously into 
 her pocket. "It's only that you are worn out, that 
 you don't know what you're saying." 
 
 He buried his head still lower. 
 
 "Frank, look here ! Wait till till you have had 
 
 something to eat " She looked distractedly 
 
 round for inspiration. "Wait till you have had your 
 breakfast, and you'll feel a different person." 
 
 He looked up indignantly. "Breakfast! Well, if 
 that isn't like a woman! Breakfast, when a fellow's, 
 life is smashed!" 
 
 But Isabel glanced quickly behind her, at the same 
 moment giving his sleeve a jerk, to rouse him to self- 
 control. "Frank, here's Aunt Teresa!" she whis- 
 pered hurriedly. "Frank, pull yourself together!" 
 
 But Frank had gone beyond the sense of shame, and 
 he turned towards the opening door without attempt 1 
 ing to wipe either the tears or the grime of travel 
 from his face. 
 
 "Well, Miss Costello, I suppose you are against me, 
 too?"
 
 130 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 At sight of him Miss Costello threw up her hands in 
 sympathetic dismay. "Oh, my poor boy ! My poor 
 boy ! Is it as bad as that ?" 
 
 At the unexpected tone, Frank's self-pity welled up 
 anew. "I'm glad somebody feels the injustice of it! 
 Though, so far as I'm concerned, it's all up with me ! 
 I'm done for!" 
 
 "Oh, don't say that ! Don't say that, Frank !" 
 
 He shook his head. " 'Tis the truth and she 
 knows it." 
 
 "Indeed, I don't !" Isabel broke in. "I hope you're 
 more of a man than that." 
 
 Miss Costello looked from one to the other in 
 tremulous consternation. "Oh, what an unfor- 
 tunate business it all is !" she wailed. "And it 
 was all so nice and settled, till that brother of 
 yours interfered." 
 
 Frank flared up. "I thought so !" he cried, turning 
 upon Isabel. "I thought so! So it is Stephen I 
 have to thank for it." 
 
 Isabel stood mute and rebellious. 
 
 "I believe you weren't telling the truth while ago," 
 he added quickly. "I believe you care for me all the 
 time, and that Stephen worked on you and made you 
 do it. Isabel, tell me ! Miss Costello, ask her to tell 
 me!" 
 
 They both turned on the girl, standing defiant and 
 apart. 
 
 "Isabel, you cared for me in Paris ! Miss Costello, 
 you know she cared for me then !"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 131 
 
 "Indeed I do. Indeed I do, Frank. Isabel, why 
 can't you answer the poor fellow!" 
 
 Still Isabel stood obstinately mute. 
 
 "Isabel, was it Stephen? Did Stephen play on 
 you?" 
 
 "No!" She shot the word at him with fierce vehe- 
 mence. 
 
 "Then what was it? For God's sake, what was it? 
 You can't throw a man away like an old glove, with- 
 out any reason." 
 
 "I gave you a reason." 
 
 "It wasn't enough. You can't tire of a person in a 
 few weeks unless, of course," he stopped suddenly, 
 and a gleam of suspicion lit his eyes, "unless you 
 fall in love with somebody else." 
 
 Isabel turned on him, swiftly furious, the blood 
 mounting to her face. "How dare you say that!" 
 
 "I didn't say it. But I believe now that it's the 
 secret or why should you get as red as that? I 
 believe you're throwing me over because there's an- 
 other man." 
 
 The two looked at each other aggressively, while 
 Miss Costello turned aside to mutter an ejaculatory 
 prayer. 
 
 "Some other man has been making love to you." 
 
 "No other man has made love to me." 
 
 "Oh, Frank, don't now!" put in Miss Costello agi- 
 tatedly. "Sure, what other man could she meet? 
 We're like nuns in a convent here." 
 
 "Be quiet, Aunt Teresa !" Isabel stamped her foot.
 
 132 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "No man has made love to me," she repeated, looking 
 
 at Frank. 
 
 "But you are in love with some man?" 
 Her eyes flashed recklessly. "If I said 'yes* would 
 
 you leave me alone?" 
 "I suppose I would," he said huskily. "Yes, I 
 
 would." 
 
 "Very well, then ! Think it, if you like !" 
 Without waiting for his comment, heedless of her 
 
 aunt's horrified cry of "Isabel !" she swung out of the 
 
 room, banging the door behind her.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WITH Isabel's violent departure a lull fell upon the 
 scene the dead lull that envelops the sailing-ship 
 when the wind drops at sea. Such personalities as 
 hers are scarcely conducive to peace, but their with- 
 drawal has a property of making remaining things 
 seem singularly dull. 
 
 With the closing of the door, Frank's vehemence 
 dropped from him, and he rose from his seat in a limp, 
 inexpressive way. "I suppose I I had best go?" he 
 said vaguely. 
 
 Miss Costello offered no assistance. She was look- 
 ing nervously towards the door, while her fingers kept 
 locking and unlocking. 
 
 "It's no good my staying here, is it? I I suppose 
 I'll go down to Lady Lane." He pushed back his 
 chair and took a turn or two up and down the room. 
 
 Miss Costello, whose one desire centred round the 
 thought of flight, jumped at the last suggestion. 
 "Oh, do! Do! I'd advise you to. There's nothing 
 like going to the fountain-head." 
 
 He gave a dreary laugh. "Well, she's the fountain- 
 head and you heard what she said." 
 
 "Oh, I did ! I did, indeed. But I wouldn't be put- 
 ting any pass on that at all, Frank. I give you my 
 solemn pledge not another man but you ever said a 
 word to her. Have a good talk with your brother,
 
 134 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and 'twill be all right yet, please God !" In her anx- 
 iety to be quit of the situation, she was ready to 
 hold out any hope, reasonable or the reverse. 
 
 Frank took another turn, and then stopped opposite 
 to her. 
 
 "Well, anyway you can tell her that, whoever he 
 is, he'll never care for her more than I did." He 
 took up his hat and overcoat, and, without any at- 
 tempt at farewell, walked out of the room. 
 
 Lady Lane was empty, save for one or two loiterers, 
 when the outside car that had driven Frank from New 
 Town drew up in front of his brother's house, and 
 there were only half a dozen pairs of eyes to observe 
 him get down and walk slowly up the steps to the 
 hall door; but Stephen Carey, breakfasting with 
 Daisy, heard the clatter of hoofs and the stopping of 
 the car, and looked up from his morning paper. 
 
 "Wasn't that a car?" 
 
 Daisy, whose mind was already flying to possible 
 contingencies, dropped the little bit of toast she was 
 buttering, and ran to the window. 
 
 "Oh, Stephen, it's an outside car with a bag and 
 a coat on the seat! And there's the hall-door bell! 
 Who on earth can it be at this hour? And I'm in 
 this awful old dress!" 
 
 As she stood panic-stricken at the thought of an 
 unexpected guest, the dining-room door opened with- 
 out ceremony and Julia put her head into the room. 
 
 "Mr. Carey, 'tis Mr. Frank!" she announced in a 
 voice charged with excitement.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 135 
 
 "Frank!" Daisy cried, as Stephen wheeled round 
 in his chair in blank astonishment; but her surprise 
 melted to consternation, as she caught sight of the 
 apparition of weariness and despair. 
 
 Carey rose abruptly. "It's all right, Julia!" were 
 his first words. "And shut the door after you." Then 
 he turned on his brother. "What the devil is the 
 meaning of this?" 
 
 By strong measures he had played father to the 
 six boys left in his charge, for the authority of an 
 elder brother is a thing that needs upholding; and 
 as he looked down now on the weak, jaded figure of 
 Frank, the old methods presented themselves uncon- 
 sciously. 
 
 For the first moment Frank cowered; then his out- 
 raged sense of manhood struggled to the surface. 
 "I want fair treatment, Stephen," he said indistinctly. 
 "That's what I want." 
 
 "Oh!" Stephen was very laconic, very hard; and, 
 turning to Daisy, he added in the same brusque tone, 
 "If you've finished your breakfast, Daisy, you may 
 as well go." 
 
 With the utmost reluctance Daisy moved towards the 
 door. She would have bartered many things for the 
 privilege of overhearing this conversation, but here 
 again habit was strong, and it did not occur to her 
 to disobey. 
 
 As she passed Frank, she held out her hand. "How 
 are you, Frank ?" she said in her pretty, precise voice. 
 She made this proffer of friendship partly from the
 
 136 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 sense of conventionality, but also from an overmaster- 
 ing desire to see his face at closer quarters. 
 
 He muttered some unintelligible remark, and 
 dropped her hand almost as soon as he had taken it. 
 
 "Close the door after you !" Stephen said remind- 
 ingly ; and without further hesitancy Daisy went. 
 
 Left alone, the brothers faced each other, each 
 conscious that antagonism lurked in the other's 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well," said Carey at last in a measured way, "so 
 you have taken the liberty of throwing up your studies 
 to come back here and demand fair treatment? Now, 
 would you mind telling me what you call fair treat- 
 ment?" 
 
 Frank visibly weakened at this deliberate attack. 
 In a long absence one is apt to underestimate the 
 strength of such men as Carey, and to face it again 
 with disorder of one's forces. 
 
 "I think I'm I'm entitled to the rights of a man, 
 Stephen." 
 
 "Indeed! The rights of a man?" 
 
 Frank braced his limp muscles. "I mean, Stephen," 
 he blurted out, "that I'm not a schoolboy that I'm 
 twenty-three that I have as good a right to live as 
 you or or any other man." 
 
 "Did I ever object to your existence?" 
 
 "Oh, you know what I mean that I have as good a 
 right as anybody else to do what I like with my life, 
 without being bullied and threatened and " 
 
 "Sit down!" said Carey peremptorily. "This isn't
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 137 
 
 a time for heroics. Tell me in the fewest possible 
 words what in God's name brought you back !" 
 
 From the instinct of long obedience, rather than 
 from any conscious admission of weakness, Frank 
 subsided into the nearest chair. 
 
 "Go on now! What brought you?" 
 
 "Your letter." 
 
 "Oh!" Again Carey was laconic. 
 
 "Yes, your letter. I know that I'm a lot younger 
 than you, Stephen, and I know that I owe you a lot 
 of money " 
 
 "Steady ! Steady !" 
 
 "Oh, well, I know that you've done a heap for me. 
 But, all the same, I couldn't let any man, even if 'twas 
 my own father, dictate to me whether I am to marry 
 and who I am to select." 
 
 Carey was silent. 
 
 "And so, when I got your letter and Isabel's letter, 
 I knew that something was wrong, and I came back 
 to see what it was." 
 
 "And have you found out?" 
 
 "Yes, I have. I went up to New Town the first 
 thing. I saw her and her aunt." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 At the thought of his recent adventure, Frank's 
 bravado flickered and went out. "Oh, what I might 
 have expected, I suppose. She doesn't want any more 
 of me." 
 
 A fresh expression passed over Carey's face, ban- 
 ishing the aggressive look. "Ah, well," he said more
 
 138 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 kindly, "you mustn't be too cut up !" He walked 
 round the table, and with a new generosity put his 
 hand on the other's shoulder. "I suppose I was a 
 bit rough in my letter, but then I always am like that. 
 Cheer up, boy! We'll be good friends yet, for all 
 this business !" 
 
 But Frank bent his head and edged away from the 
 friendly hand. "It's no good, Stephen ! It's done for 
 me." 
 
 The pressure of Carey's hand became heavier, and 
 he twisted the boy round in his seat. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 Frank kept his eyes lowered. "I mean what I say. 
 I'm done for! I'm not going to stick on, in the face 
 of this !" 
 
 Stephen's brow darkened and the line of his mouth 
 became hard. "Look here, Frank," he said, "don't 
 come to me with any of that rot. It won't work with 
 me. While you're in this house you're going to be- 
 have as a rational being. I'll send you upstairs pres- 
 ently to have a hot bath and a shave. And to show 
 how little I give for your threats, I'll lend you one of 
 my razors !" 
 
 The cool, sarcastic tone stung Frank out of his 
 lethargy, as Carey had meant it should. 
 
 "I think you're a brute !" he blurted out. "And she's 
 as bad." 
 
 Carey laughed. "Come, come! Be a man! 
 As for the girl, she's thinking of you more than 
 of herself."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 139 
 
 Frank gave a bitter echo of the laugh. "Of me, in- 
 deed! That's all you know about it." 
 
 "I know she's a sight too good for you ! She's got 
 more spirit and sense than ever you will have." 
 
 "Spirit ! Sense ! If that was all, do you think I'd 
 care ? Do you think I'd give in like this ? It's being 
 thrown away like an old glove chucked for 
 some other fellow that takes the heart out of 
 you!" 
 
 In the pause that followed, Carey turned away and 
 walked slowly to the mantelpiece. "Another fellow?" 
 he said. "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 Frank was too absorbed to notice anything of the 
 tone in which the words were said. "I mean what I 
 say no more and no less," he said. "If you think 
 it's sense that has made her do this, you know very 
 little about women." 
 
 "That's quite probable." 
 
 "The less the better for you ! Spirit and sense, in- 
 deed! Why, with her own lips she told me that she 
 doesn't care a brass farthing for me that she's 
 throwing me over for somebody else." 
 
 Carey leant his elbow on the mantelpiece. "And who 
 is the somebody else?" 
 
 "You may be sure I didn't ask. What does it matter 
 whether it's Willie Neville or Owen Power, or who the 
 devil it is, so long as it isn't me?" 
 
 Carey turned round abruptly. "Do you think that 
 a girl like that would throw herself away on an ass 
 like Neville or an empty-headed coxcomb like Power?"
 
 140 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Why not? Power is a lady's man. Ask Daisy or 
 Mary if he isn't!" 
 
 "But it's ridiculous on the face of it! She hasn't 
 seen any of them half a dozen times !" 
 
 Frank gave another of his dreary laughs. "A lot 
 that has to do with it! I only met her three times, 
 when I was crazed about her." 
 
 Carey stood pondering these words of wisdom. 
 
 "That's the way with women!" Frank broke out 
 again. "You see if she isn't engaged before a month 
 is out! After all, Power is a better match than me, 
 any day!" 
 
 "That'll do, Frank ! That'Udo! We've had enough 
 of this." Stepping to the side of the fireplace, Carey 
 pulled the bell peremptorily. 
 
 The door opened with suspicious alacrity, and Julia 
 appeared. 
 
 "Take Mr. Frank up to my room," he ordered. 
 "Get him some hot water for shaving, and then fill the 
 bath!" 
 
 For a moment Frank looked as though about to re- 
 bel, but a glance at Julia's inquisitive face deterred 
 him, and he rose mechanically. 
 
 "I won't want any breakfast, Stephen," he said, "so 
 you needn't order any." 
 
 "All right !" Carey agreed unfeelingly. "We'll call 
 you for lunch." 
 
 As the door closed, he turned back again to the fire- 
 place, and his expression was a curious mingling of 
 irritation and eome other motion, less easily defined.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 141 
 
 With a wide, characteristic gesture, he threw out his 
 arms and, resting both elbows on the mantel-board, 
 stood staring down into the grate. For a while he re- 
 mained in this attitude of thought ; then, with an ab- 
 rupt movement, he threw up his head, as though im- 
 patience of the world had concentrated into im- 
 patience of himself. 
 "Pshaw ! Women !" he said with deep disgust.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IT was not for a moment to be supposed that such a 
 piece of news as Frank Carey's sudden return, with 
 all its subsequent developments, could be lost to 
 Waterford ears. By eleven o'clock half the Careys' 
 friends were posted in details of the affair, true or 
 false as the case might be; and at half -past eleven 
 Mary Norris appeared at Lady Lane, alert to follow 
 the trail of gossip. 
 
 It was Daisy herself who opened the door to her 
 familiar knock; and, taking her arm in mysterious 
 silence, she drew her into the now empty dining-room. 
 
 "Well," she said, breathless with her own news, "have 
 you heard anything?" 
 
 Mary pulled off her chamois gloves and tossed them 
 on to the table, where the remains of breakfast bore 
 witness to a demoralised household. 
 
 "Anything?" she said. "Well, I should think I 
 have!" 
 
 "Wait a minute!" Daisy ran back and closed the 
 door carefully. "Now, what is it? What are people 
 saying?" 
 
 "Saying? What aren't they saying?" 
 
 "Oh, Mary, what?" 
 
 "Well, first of all, the Buckleys joined me after 
 mass, simply brimming over with curiosity, and asked 
 me if it was true that Frank Carey had met Isabel
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 143 
 
 Costello while she was at school and had followed her 
 over here, and that Miss Costello herself had turned 
 him out of the house at nine o'clock this morning? 
 That was bad enough, goodness knows ! but then, just 
 as I was coming down Lady Lane, who should rush 
 out at me but that horrid old Miss Green to say that 
 she had heard Frank was barely recovering from 
 malaria and had been ordered back to his native air, 
 and that she had seen him herself arriving this morn- 
 ing, looking like a person risen from the grave! Oh, 
 I've had a time of it, I can tell you ! But what's the 
 truth, Daisy? What on earth is it? Is he honestly 
 here?" 
 
 Daisy had sunk into a chair under the weight of her 
 sister's information, and now she looked up with be- 
 wildered eyes. "Oh, yes, it's true enough! He's up- 
 stairs now, walking up and down his room and groan- 
 ing out loud. I think he's half off his head." 
 
 Mary made a gesture of contempt. "Frank always 
 was a fool! But what on earth has brought him 
 back?" 
 
 "Honestly, I hardly know! Stephen was so cross 
 after being shut in here with him for half an hour, 
 that he banged out of the house as if everything in 
 the world was upside down." 
 
 "And didn't he explain? Didn't he say anything?" 
 
 "Oh, I saw him for about two minutes, and he just 
 muttered something about Frank being an ass, who 
 couldn't take 'No,' for an answer and that I was to 
 hold my tongue about the whole business."
 
 144 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Upon my word!" was Mary's expressive comment. 
 Then she turned her head sharply. "Hallo, Daisy! 
 Wasn't that the hall-door bell?" 
 
 Daisy looked aghast. "Oh, no, surely! Would I 
 have time to run upstairs?" 
 
 "You wouldn't; I hear Julia opening." 
 
 "Heavens! And if it's anybody, she'll have them 
 in here in two seconds! And look at the state I'm 
 in ! And look at the table !" Her voice quivered with 
 consternation. 
 
 Mary held up a warning finger. "Listen ! I be- 
 lieve it's Mrs. Power ! Yes, it is !" 
 
 "Oh, how absolutely sickening ! What an idiot Julia 
 is!" Then Daisy turned, all smiles, as the dining- 
 room door opened. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Power ! How are you !" 
 
 Mrs. Power came forward with both hands out, and 
 kissed her effusively. "My dear !" she cried, "I can't 
 tell you how relieved I am to see you looking so well ; 
 I hear you've gone through a terrible lot ! How are 
 you, Mary ! I saw you at mass ; but you're like quick- 
 silver, I can never overtake you. And now, Daisy, 
 what on earth is it all about?" 
 
 Daisy drew forward a chair, at the same time trying 
 distractedly to decide how much she should reveal and 
 how much she should withhold. "Won't you sit down, 
 Mrs. Power!" 
 
 "Thank you, dear! And now tell me everything 
 from the very beginning." 
 
 Here Mary stepped into the breach. "But, Mrs.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 145 
 
 Power," she said, "the worst of it is that we know so 
 little ourselves. Won't you first tell us what you 
 have heard?" 
 
 "Heard? My goodness, Mary! What haven't I 
 heard? But just tell me, Daisy, is it really true that 
 he met her in Paris and fell in love with her there?" 
 
 "He did meet her in Paris with her aunt," Daisy 
 admitted guardedly. 
 
 "And are they engaged? Do tell me that! Are 
 they engaged?" 
 
 "No, Mrs. Power. They are not." 
 
 Mrs. Power leant back in her chair. "Exactly what 
 I said myself! It's just the gossip of a place like 
 this. But there you are ! You can't stop people say- 
 ing nasty things." 
 
 "What about?" Daisy was up in arms. "What 
 about, Mrs. Power?" 
 
 "Oh, well, 'tisn't worth noticing things like that. I 
 never listen to them myself." 
 
 "Still, I'd rather know them. What are people say- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Oh well, indeed, Daisy, they're saying things about 
 you and Stephen. But, as I say 
 
 "About us?" 
 
 "About Daisy?" Mary cried. "What on earth for?" 
 
 Mrs. Power arranged the strings of her bonnet. 
 "Well, I'll give it to you, word for word. What I 
 heard was that Frank and Isabel Costello were en- 
 gaged, and that when Isabel came back to Water- 
 ford, Daisy put her foot down and wouldn't hear of
 
 146 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the match because she has no money ; and that Stephen 
 vas seen going into Miss Costello's on Sunday after 
 last mass. Mind you, I'm only repeating what I 
 heard!" 
 
 "Oh !" Daisy stamped her foot with vexation. "Oh, 
 how annoying ! How sickening !" 
 
 "Of course it is, my dear ! But there you are !" 
 
 "I wonder if Isabel herself spread the story 1" 
 
 "Oh, fie, Mary ! As if she'd do such a thing !" 
 
 Mary shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Oh, how annoying! How annoying!" Daisy said 
 again. 
 
 "Ah, now don't ! You'll make me sorry I told you at 
 all. Make the best of it! Make up your mind what 
 you're going to do!" 
 
 "I don't know what to do. Stephen will be furious." 
 
 "Will I give you a bit of advice?" 
 
 "Do! Oh, do! You're awfully good at knowing 
 the right thing." Daisy revived at the prospect of 
 help. 
 
 "Well, then, my advice is to be as nice as ever you 
 can to Isabel. Ask her here while you are in town; 
 and as soon as you go out to Kilmeaden have her to 
 stay with you there." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Power, not Kilmeaden!" Mary cried. 
 "She needn't have her at Kilmeaden !" 
 
 "And why not, dear?" 
 
 "Because Daisy always has who she likes there. It's 
 the country and and 
 
 "Oh, I don't know, Mary!" Daisy objected suddenly.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 147 
 
 "Perhaps Mrs. Power is right. After all, if we have 
 her here, people won't notice it so much; but if we 
 ask her to Kilmeaden they'll say she must certainly 
 be friends with us." 
 
 "That's it, Daisy ! That's what I say. And now, 
 like a good girl, tell me about Frank. He really is 
 here, isn't he?" 
 
 "Oh, yes ; he's upstairs now ! He wanted a rest, you 
 know, after the journey." 
 
 "Poor fellow! To be sure he did! I suppose 
 Stephen is delighted to have him back?" 
 
 "Oh oh, yes ! Delighted." 
 
 "And, Daisy, dear " Mrs. Power drew her chair 
 
 close to Daisy's and dropped her voice to the confi- 
 dential key. "Daisy, dear, tell me now if it's at all 
 true that he's really in love with her?" 
 
 Daisy hesitated, mindful of Stephen's warning, 
 mindful too of Mary's deterring eyes; then the un- 
 speakable joy of imparting such a story broke down 
 all barriers. 
 
 "Mrs. Power," she said, "it's the most deadly se- 
 cret, and there isn't another person living that I'd 
 tell it to ; but if you'll give me your solemn promise 
 
 not to breathe a word of it " And so the story 
 
 was told. 
 
 Before a week had passed all Waterford knew for a 
 certainty that Isabel Costello and Frank Carey had 
 seriously contemplated marriage; and that, for some 
 unknown reason, Frank had returned unexpectedly 
 to his native town, and was now in hermit-like seclu-
 
 148 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 sion in Lady Lane with his engagement, and pre- 
 sumably his heart, irrevocably broken. Now, what- 
 ever the secret streams that may issue from a wound 
 dealt by Cupid, only one expression of opinion is likely 
 to be obtained from the public a deep and pro- 
 tracted study of the lady in the case. So while Frank, 
 lovelorn and disconsolate, pined in his solitude, Isabel 
 saw new vistas opening in her social world, and the 
 ten days that followed the eventful morning found 
 her playing tennis at the Powers', croquet at the 
 Burkes', and being initiated into the mysteries of 
 cards at the Nevilles' and the Norris's. Everywhere 
 she went she was stared at, whispered about, and made 
 much of for a girl who has broken an engagement 
 in an atmosphere where marriage is not easy of at- 
 tainment must of necessity have a claim to considera- 
 tion. There is a good deal of the child in the Celtic 
 nature, in the sense that the eyes and the ears are 
 caught by the passing show; and that, also like the 
 child, the sound of a new drum will send the feet rac- 
 ing down a side street at the heels of a fresh crowd. 
 Some of the mothers may perhaps have had secret mis- 
 givings, wondering in their own minds whether it was 
 entirely right that a girl should be socially in evi- 
 dence while her rejected lover was in the same town; 
 but if they had doubts, their sons had none, and their 
 daughters, from sentiment or expediency, saw fit to 
 have none either and Isabel was the attraction of 
 the hour. 
 For Isabel herself this success was not without re-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 149 
 
 suit. As on the night of her first dance, she expanded 
 in the sun of admiration, as the butterfly spreads its 
 wings to the summer heat. On a larger stage she en- 
 acted again the scene that Carey's first coming had 
 interrupted on the night at Fair Hill, when the little 
 group of men had clamoured for her programme. In 
 those pleasant days she tasted adulation for the first 
 time, knowing the joy of giving and withholding, 
 seeing the moves in that subtle game where the head 
 directs while the heart beats steady ; and all the time 
 there was the consciousness that, sooner or later, the 
 real man would step out from this background of 
 shadows, drawing her with him into the real world; 
 and as she laughed and talked and jested this con- 
 sciousness was alive, a flame burning out of sight, 
 ready to leap up and scorch. Some day, some mo- 
 ment, the call would come, and her nature would flow 
 out, an unsluiced current flooding towards the sea. 
 And in the meantime? In the meantime, she was 
 young and she was alive!
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ALTHOUGH Isabel had been going to and fro for 
 nearly a fortnight in the Careys' intimate circle, she 
 had heard no definite news of Frank. Either from 
 that hyper-sensitiveness that the Irish feel about ap- 
 proaching a delicate subject, or because there was 
 no real friendship to warrant the intrusion, people 
 avoided the matter altogether or skirted carefully 
 round it when she happened to be present; so, al- 
 though she knew vaguely that Frank was still at Lady 
 Lane, she was entirely ignorant of the mental conflict 
 that was going forward between the brothers. 
 
 Carey she had not seen since the night of the din- 
 ner-party; from Frank himself no word came; and 
 Mary and Daisy preserved a resolute silence on the 
 subject. 
 
 It was not until the eleventh day that the position 
 was made clear to her. She had been playing tennis 
 all the afternoon, and only returned to New Town to 
 hurry through the tea, that in such households as Miss 
 Costello's takes the place of dinner, before changing 
 her dress for an evening party at Fair Hill. She 
 was flushed with exercise and in high spirits when 
 she entered the house, and the gay tune of a song that 
 had caught her fancy rose to her lips as she crossed 
 the little hall and laid her tennis racket on the old- 
 , fashioned hat-stand.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 151 
 
 "Miss Isabel," ventured the slovenly maid who had 
 admitted her, "there's a letter for you. It come by 
 the last post, an' I put it in the drawer in the 
 stand." 
 
 "For me, Lizzie? Who from, I wonder!" Isabel 
 hastily pulled the drawer open and took up the en- 
 velope bearing her name. The handwriting was un- 
 familiar, but the post-mark was Waterford, and her 
 first feeling was of relief that at least it was not from 
 Frank. Then suddenly, by the suggestion of ideas, 
 a flash of intuition enlightened her: she blushed, and 
 with an almost nervous haste put the letter unopened 
 into her pocket. 
 
 "Is tea ready, Lizzie?" 
 
 Lizzie, who cherished romantic ideas, looked disap- 
 pointed. "Oh, yes, miss! Tea is on," she said. 
 
 "Is Aunt Teresa in the parlour?" 
 
 "Yes, miss ; she's goin' on wid it." 
 
 Isabel received the information with a nod, and 
 passed into the little sitting-room. 
 
 At sound of her entry Miss Costello looked up from 
 her meal, which consisted of strong tea, bread and 
 butter, and a boiled egg. "Well, Isabel!" she said, 
 "you seem very pleased with yourself. Did you win 
 the game of tennis?" 
 
 At another time Isabel would have replied that she 
 had played seventeen games and won eleven ; but now 
 she merely walked round the table and imprinted a 
 kiss on Miss Costello's forehead. 
 
 "I did grandly, auntie. 'Twas a lovely day."
 
 152 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Who was there? Will you have an egg for your 
 tea, or would you like a chop cooked?" 
 
 "An egg will do." Isabel seated herself and began 
 to cut a round of bread from the loaf on the table. 
 
 "Well, and who was there? I never knew such a 
 girl! You don't tell a person a thing." 
 
 "Oh, auntie, indeed I do!" 
 
 "Well, then, who was there to-day?" Miss Costello 
 rose and, opening the door, called down the passage 
 "Lizzie, boil another egg !" 
 
 "Well?" she repeated, as she seated herself again. 
 
 "Oh, let me see! The Nevilles and the Cranes and 
 some of the Power boys and Mary Norris." 
 
 "And who did you play with?" 
 
 "With Willie Neville some of the tune, and some 
 of the time with Owen Power." 
 
 "With Owen Power? And how did Mary Norris 
 like that? Everybody said last year that he was go- 
 ing in for her." 
 
 "Well, I don't think he spoke two words to her to- 
 day." 
 
 Miss Costello's black eyes took a hurried survey of 
 her niece. "Isabel," she said severely, "I hope you're 
 not a flirt." 
 
 "Aunt Teresa !" Isabel's temper flared up, and then, 
 for some mysterious reason, died down again, and was 
 replaced by a sunny laugh. "Why, auntie ?" she sub- 
 stituted in a coaxing voice. 
 
 "Because you ought to be very careful after what 
 has happened."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 153 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because people might talk." 
 
 At this juncture Lizzie entered with the egg, and 
 Isabel was helped to a cup of the strong tea ; but im- 
 mediately they were alone again she reverted to the 
 subject. 
 
 "Auntie," she said, "I told you before that I don't 
 mind one scrap whether people talk or not. I sup- 
 pose it's my nature, but it doesn't seem to me to mat- 
 ter, as long as you can please yourself and be happy, 
 whether people speak about you or don't. I try and 
 try to work myself up into being terrified of their 
 talk, but it's no good. I can't." She paused in her 
 healthy consumption of bread and butter, and stared 
 into her aunt's face with hei* bright, eager eyes. "Am 
 I very queer, Aunt Teresa?" 
 
 Miss Costello stirred her tea nervously, for she dis- 
 liked these searching questions. "Well, any priest 
 will tell you that you must consider your neighbours !" 
 
 "I know. But supposing your neighbours don't 
 seem half as real to you as you seem to yourself? 
 Supposing you can't keep thinking of whether this 
 is wrong, or that is wrong, no matter how hard you 
 try?" 
 
 "Your conscience will tell you that." 
 
 Isabel was silent for a moment: then the question- 
 ing glance flashed back to her aunt's face. "Auntie, 
 what exactly is conscience?" 
 
 Miss Costello dropped her spoon in perfectly un- 
 affected horror. "Good gracious, child! You don't
 
 154 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 mean to tell me that the nuns didn't teach you 
 that?" 
 
 "Of course they taught me in a set sort of a way, 
 but that's not what I mean at all ! I mean how do you 
 really and truly know when a thing is right or 
 wrong?" 
 
 Miss Costello's lips tightened. "Do you mean to 
 say you don't know when you commit a sin?" 
 
 "Oh, I'd know if I told a lie, and I'd know if I 
 stole anything, of course, because 'twould be a fact, 
 and I couldn't help knowing it. But what I mean is 
 that I don't feel things to be wrong here." She 
 touched her breast lightly. "I remember the nuns in 
 Dublin used to talk about people having 'qualms of 
 conscience,' but I never really understood what it 
 meant. Am I very queer?" 
 
 Miss Costello finished her tea hurriedly. "Yes, you 
 are," she said agitatedly ; "and a young girl like you 
 has no business at all to talk about such things. Leave 
 them to those that know better." She set down her 
 cup with a rattle and, leaving her niece to ponder her 
 words of wisdom, walked out of the room. 
 
 Left alone, Isabel took her letter from its hiding- 
 place and looked at it, turning it over and over in her 
 hand ; then with a little smile, meant for herself alone, 
 she slipped it back into her pocket and finished her 
 tea with a certain slow enjoyment. 
 
 In her own room, with the door locked, she at last 
 felt free to dethrone imagination for reality, and, 
 sitting on the side of her bed, she drew the letter
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 155 
 
 forth once more and slowly opened the envelope. A 
 minute sufficed for the reading of the enclosure, a 
 very short, very commonplace note, which merely 
 ran 
 
 "DEAR Miss COSTEKLO, I have at last brought my 
 brother to see reason, and he will go back to Paris to- 
 night. I did not write before, because I had nothing 
 definite to report. Believe me, sincerely yours, 
 
 "STEPHEN CAREY." 
 
 The first feeling that coursed through her mind was 
 keen disappointment: the curtness, the formality of 
 the letter came like sharp blows on the malleable soil 
 of her sensitiveness. He might have said a word of 
 gratitude! He might have sent one kind message! 
 She sprang from the bed in sudden anger, tossed the 
 letter upon the dressing-table, and with quick, resent- 
 ful movements began to take down her thick black 
 hair and re-dress it for the night's festivity. Her 
 fingers worked rapidly, brushing, coiling, pinning, 
 the long black strands, until at last the work was 
 done ; then, with the same resentful haste, she slipped 
 off the blue cotton skirt she had been wearing, and, 
 throwing open the door of her wardrobe, stood con- 
 sidering what she should put on. The choice was not 
 very extensive: she looked at the white cashmir and 
 the blue serge, her uniform dresses that had been 
 lengthened for her by a New Town dressmaker since 
 her return from school, but both were instantly con-
 
 156 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 demned ; next came the pink muslin, but that had seen 
 considerable service in the last few weeks and already 
 drooped pathetically; next, she scanned a couple of 
 blouses, and a black alpaca skirt that had belonged to 
 her aunt, but her eye was full of disfavour, and turned 
 instinctively to the last remaining garment a plain, 
 mauve, linen dress, more suitable for morning than 
 for evening wear, but which fitted her well, and found 
 added value in her estimation by reason of being her 
 latest acquisition. 
 
 She had worn this dress on the morning of her in- 
 terview with Frank, and at another time, perhaps, 
 the disagreeable association would have made her 
 shrink from it; but to-night her anger and disap- 
 pointment gave immunity from such superstition, 
 and without hesitation she took the skirt from its hook 
 and slipped it over her head. A few minutes com- 
 pleted her preparations ; and with a last glance into 
 the mirror at her flushed face and rebellious eyes, she 
 took her way towards the door; but at the door she 
 stopped, hesitated, and with an air half -defiant, half- 
 shy, went back to the dressing-table and picked up 
 Carey's offending letter. As if ashamed of her weak- 
 ness, she thrust it surreptitiously into her pocket ; and 
 as it slipped into the hidden recess, her fingers touched 
 something smooth and cold, and the expression of her 
 face altered suddenly memory striving with sur- 
 prise, as she withdrew her hand and brought to light 
 the little bottle she had wrested from Frank a week 
 ago, and had forgotten in the stress of newer events.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 157 
 
 She stood for a moment, unpleasantly moved by the 
 sight of this small object. With the fascination of 
 all deadly things, the harmless-looking tabloids held 
 her gaze: she looked at them with a close, repugnant 
 curiosity; she shook the bottle until they rattled 
 against the glass ; she even withdrew the cork and al- 
 lowed one to roll out upon her palm. 
 
 She looked at it, as it lay there, one key of the 
 many that could open the great gate, and for a mo- 
 ment the shadow of its potency fell on her chillingly. 
 The personal contemplation of death had always been 
 abhorrent to her; with an almost superstitious dread, 
 her keen vitality had always recoiled from it. Death 
 existed, certainly! Existed for the old, for the ex- 
 hausted, for the unfit, but not for health and youth 
 not for such as she ! 
 
 She stood for a moment longer, magnetised by the 
 small white tabloid in her hand: then, by some curi- 
 ous working of the mind, an overwhelming repug- 
 nance surged over her ; she dropped it back among its 
 fellows, ran across the room to a cupboard in the 
 wall, and, thrusting the bottle into a drawer, locked 
 it out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MANY emotions chased each other through Isabel's 
 mind as she made her way to Fair Hill; and as she 
 walked into the room set aside for the guests' wraps, 
 the little group of girls already assembled glanced 
 round at her expressive face with the mingled curi- 
 osity, admiration, and uncertainty that she always 
 aroused. 
 
 Mary Norris, who had taken up her position at the 
 dressing-table, saw her in the mirror, and addressed 
 her without turning round. "Hallo, Isabel ! Is that 
 a new dress?" 
 
 Isabel laughed. "Nearly new," she said. 
 
 "And is the mauve by way of mourning?" 
 
 "Mourning? How?" 
 
 Mary carefully took a little powder from a box on 
 the table and dabbed it on her cheeks. "The king is 
 dead ! Long live the king !" she said in her most ag- 
 gravating voice. 
 
 "Mary is sarcastic, so she's putting on powder," 
 said Amy Hennessy, the pretty girl with the im- 
 pertinent eyes, who had criticised Isabel on the night 
 of her first dance. 
 
 Mary turned round indignantly. "This isn't pow- 
 der, Amy, it's crushed starch." 
 
 No one offered to challenge this Jesuitical statement; 
 but Amy pushed past her to the glass.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 159 
 
 "Well, let me see my hair, anyway! What's to go 
 on here to-night?" 
 
 "Bridge for those who have brains to play it," said 
 Mary promptly ; "and the garden for those who 
 haven't. Would you like a loan of my fur coat, 
 Amy?" 
 
 There was a little titter of laughter at this, for 
 it was diplomatic to be amused by Mary's 
 sallies. 
 
 "No, thank you, Mary !" Amy retorted. "The con- 
 servatory will be quite good enough for me." 
 
 There was a fresh laugh ; and chatting and chaffing, 
 the band of girls departed, leaving Mary and Isabel 
 alone. 
 
 Mary put in a hairpin or two, and settled the black 
 velvet ribbon at her neck. 
 
 "Frank Carey is gone back to Paris!" she an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "I know," said Isabel. 
 
 "Who told you? 'Twas only to-day Stephen got 
 him to see reason ; and he shipped him off this even- 
 ing, before he could change his mind." 
 
 "I know. Mr. Carey wrote to me." Isabel took up 
 a comb and arranged her hair, which had been blown 
 into untidiness by her walk. 
 
 "Oh!" Mary stole a quick glance at her. "That 
 was a condescension of Stephen's! Was the letter 
 more than two lines long?" 
 
 "I didn't count." 
 
 "You should have. Stephen's private letters always
 
 160 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 make me feel that he's missing the six-and-eightpence. 
 Are you ready?" 
 
 Passing out of the bedroom and down the stairs, the 
 first person they came upon was Owen Power, loung- 
 ing in a wicker chair in the hall and flirting with Amy 
 Hennessy. Immediately they appeared, he looked up, 
 and, with a superb lack of courtesy, turned his back 
 on his companion, and came slowly towards them. 
 "Well, Mary!" he said. "Well, Miss Costello, you 
 look very fit after your tennis !" 
 
 Isabel, still smarting under Mary's sarcasms, seized 
 childishly upon the opportunity to retaliate. "How 
 could I be tired," she said, "when I had such a good 
 partner ?" 
 
 Mary glanced at her, amazed by the encouragement 
 of her tone, and Power gave a self-conscious laugh. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that ! I don't know about 
 that!" 
 
 He laughed again and twisted his short moustache. 
 "What are you going to do to-night? I think myself 
 it's much too hot for cards." He looked directly into 
 her eyes ; and then, bidden by some twinge of con- 
 science, turned to Mary, including her in the question. 
 
 Mary flushed, but her glance met his with level cold- 
 ness. "Oh, do you think that ?" she said. "I'm long- 
 ing for a game myself. I'd be very sorry indeed to 
 give up bridge for anything you could find in this 
 house." With a quick, contemptuous nod, she passed 
 him, and crossed the hall to the dining-room. 
 
 The two, left to themselves, were silent for a mo-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 161 
 
 ment, then Power gave another empty laugh. 
 " 'Mary, Mary, quite contrairy !' " he quoted. "But 
 that needn't spoil things for us." 
 
 Isabel hated him for the words ; but she hated Mary 
 Norris more, so she ignored the lesser feeling and an- 
 swered with a smile 
 
 "What are we going to do?" 
 
 "Go out in the garden, of course, as soon as you've 
 said how d'you do to the dragon!" 
 
 They crossed the hall, as Mary had done, and passed 
 into the dining-room, where Mrs. Burke and her two 
 daughters were hovering about a table set out with 
 tea and coffee. Groups of people were clustering 
 round the good things, eating and talking, while in 
 the distant corners of the room others were already 
 sitting down to cards under the direction of Michael 
 Burke. 
 
 As Isabel entered the room at Power's side, her mind 
 suddenly leaped to interest, for the first person her 
 eyes lighted upon was Stephen Carey, bending down 
 to catch the voluble chatter of a little old lady in a 
 grey silk dress. Carey was here, then! She smiled 
 at Mrs. Burke, without hearing her greetings. Would 
 he turn his head? Would he see her? The questions 
 crossed and recrossed her mind in unanalysed con- 
 fusion. 
 
 She took her tea from Power's hand, laughing at 
 some jest of his. Life was interesting again full of 
 zest, full of possibility. 
 
 She lingered over her tea, her eyes glancing sur-
 
 162 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 reptitiously towards the tall figure and the charac- 
 teristic head, while her tongue ran on in a stream of 
 careless talk. At last she was compelled to set her 
 cup down. 
 
 "Won't you have any tea, Mr. Power?" she asked, 
 hoping for an excuse to linger. 
 
 Power looked worldly-wise. "Not me!" he whis- 
 pered. "I've had a whisky upstairs in the old man's 
 room. Are you ready?" 
 
 She nodded. After all, Carey was in the house ! 
 They must meet, sooner or later! "Yes, I'm quite 
 ready," she said, and with the buoyant sense that 
 everything was still to come, she followed Power, 
 as he edged round the table and out into the 
 hall. 
 
 At the open hall-door they paused, and he looked at 
 her. "Well," he said; "and so I'm to have a talk 
 with you at last !" 
 
 She laughed. "A talk? What have you got to 
 say?" 
 
 "Ah, wait and see! I have plenty to say to you!" 
 He led the way down the steps, and as they crossed 
 the gravelled drive he took out his cigarette case. 
 "Do you mind if I smoke? Or, perhaps, you'll have 
 a cigarette yourself? All the girls here smoke, only 
 they don't pretend it." 
 
 Isabel's eyes opened. "Do they, really? We used 
 to smoke at school whenever we got the chance, but 
 I thought they were too good here." 
 
 "Lord, no ! Won't you have one ?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 163 
 
 Her eyes flashed. "I'd love to! Do you think I 
 might?" 
 
 "Why not? Come down here, and not a soul will 
 see !" He pointed to a long dark alley leading off the 
 avenue. 
 
 For a moment she looked doubtful ; then, casting her 
 misgivings aside, she turned as he directed. The path, 
 which was known as "The Lover's Walk," was thickly 
 hemmed in by cedars and laurels, which even in dry 
 weather kept the ground damp and the air moist and 
 close. 
 
 "It's a funny place!" she said, as they made their 
 way onward. "I don't think I like it." 
 
 "Oh, it's all right ! It's a bit of the old garden 
 the only bit that has managed to hold on through 
 Michael's improvements." 
 
 "I don't think I like it. It has a creepy feel." 
 
 He laughed and edged a little nearer to her. "Afraid 
 of ghosts, what?" 
 
 "Ghosts ! as if I believed in ghosts !" Her voice was 
 nervously sharp. "Aren't you going to give me the 
 cigarette?" 
 
 "Do you want it so soon?" 
 
 "Of course I do. I came for it, didn't I?" 
 
 Without further demur he took two cigarettes from 
 his case, and putting one between his lips, struck a 
 match. 
 
 "You light yours from mine! Matches splutter so 
 much in here." He handed her the remaining cigarette, 
 which she raised somewhat hesitatingly to her lips.
 
 164 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I think I'll have the match," she said. 
 
 "I tell you 'twill go out. It's as damp as anything 
 under these trees." 
 
 "Well, I think I'd rather " 
 
 "What nonsense ! Come along !" He made his own 
 cigarette glow, and bent his face towards hers. 
 
 Half-uncertainly she stepped towards him. 
 
 "That's no good ! You must pull on it. Look here, 
 stand nearer !" He put his hand on her shoulder, and 
 as the two cigarettes glowed he looked straight into 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Do you know what an awfully pretty girl you 
 are?" * 
 
 Isabel laughed, shaking his hand from her shoulder. 
 "Am I?" 
 
 "Are you, indeed? I should think you are. But 
 I'll tell you what you are, too. You're a flirt." 
 
 "Why should you say that?" 
 
 "Why? Doesn't all Waterford know how you 
 chucked poor Frank Carey?" 
 
 "And because all Waterford says it, it must be 
 true?" 
 
 "Well, seeing is believing! Come now! Admit!" 
 
 Isabel looked at him, and a certain triumph half- 
 excited, half-nervous marked her sense of conquest. 
 
 "And suppose I do admit?" 
 
 "Well, what do you think?" With a ready move- 
 ment he caught her hand. 
 
 She freed herself sharply, and her laugh rang out 
 high and excited. "Listen!" she said quickly.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 165 
 
 "Listen! There's somebody coming somebody com- 
 ing up the path." 
 
 They both looked round, struck into silence by steps 
 on the wet ground. 
 
 Power muttered something uncomplimentary to all 
 intruders, and Isabel gave a little gasp. 
 
 "Why, it's Mr. Carey !" she said. 
 
 Carey came towards them down the dark path: he 
 was walking very slowly and smoking a cigar. Reach- 
 ing them, he half -turned as if to retrace his steps, 
 but Isabel stopped him. 
 
 "Mr. Carey! Aren't you going to speak to us?" 
 
 His eyes travelled from the cigarette between her 
 fingers to the shadowy figure of her companion. 
 
 "It's so dark " he said, "I scarcely knew " 
 
 "Oh, it's me me and Mr. Power." 
 
 "Ah! Good-night, Power!" 
 
 "Good-night!" Power said ungraciously. "I sup- 
 pose you're like us found the house too hot !" 
 
 "Yes, I thought I'd desert for a while. I had no 
 smoke after dinner to-night. But I mustn't inflict 
 my company on you !" 
 
 He was turning again, but Isabel took an impulsive 
 step forward. "But but we'd like you to stay." 
 
 He paused. "Oh, no ! Two is company, you know !" 
 
 "Well, if you won't stay, we'll go back with you." 
 
 Carey laughed. "Will Mr. Power subscribe to that?" 
 
 Power ground his heel silently into the path. 
 
 "Of course he will!" Isabel answered. 
 
 "Rather !" Power said rudely. "I must go back to
 
 166 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the house, anyway. They'll be looking for me for 
 bridge." 
 
 "I see. And will Miss Costello go back too?" 
 
 "No!" Isabel answered for herself. "I'll stay on 
 with you: I want to finish my cigarette." With os- 
 tentatious calm, she led the way back to the avenue 
 and, replacing the cigarette between her lips, stepped 
 to Carey's side, while Power ran up the steps and en- 
 tered the house. 
 
 As he disappeared, Carey looked down at her. "I 
 can't make you out !" he said in a slow, deep voice. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 He answered by another question. "Do you know 
 that I saw you before you saw me?" 
 
 "Just now?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "Oh!" She flicked the ash from her cigarette. 
 
 "Don't you think you might wait till that poor beg- 
 gar is decently out of the country before you begin 
 turning other heads?" 
 
 She stood silent. 
 
 "Why do you flirt with men like Power? Why do 
 you give them the chance to talk about you?" 
 
 Her lashes lifted, and she shot a swift glance at him. 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "You don't know?" 
 
 "Something makes me." 
 
 He stared at her angry, perplexed, attracted. "Do 
 you like this chap, Power?" 
 
 "No."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 167 
 
 "Then, good heavens, why do you let him take you 
 out into the garden in this conspicuous way give 
 you cigarettes actually make love to you under the 
 eyes of anybody who might happen to pass by?" 
 
 "He wasn't making love." With an attempt at 
 bravado, she raised the cigarette again ; but before it 
 could touch her lips, Carey seized it from between her 
 fingers and threw it away among the bushes. 
 
 She stared at him, and her pulses gave a sudden 
 unaccountable throb. 
 
 "Why did you do that?" 
 
 "Because if nobody else will stop you from making a 
 fool of yourself, I will." 
 
 The words and the tone were harsh, but they had 
 the inestimable worth of things wrung spontaneously 
 from the speaker. Carey had never been so near to 
 her as in that moment of anger. 
 
 "And do you mind whether I make a fool of myself 
 or not?" 
 
 For one second he seemed on the brink of speech; 
 then he turned away, avoiding her questioning eyes. 
 "Never mind!" he said. "Come into the house!"
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT was the day following the evening party at Fair 
 Hill and Mrs. Michael Burke's "At Home" day. 
 She was waiting in solemn state in the big drawing- 
 room, while her daughters, Aileen and Angela, flitted 
 here and there, altering the position of a flower-vase, 
 rearranging a book or a paper, lowering or raising 
 the Venetian blinds. Aileen and Angela Burke were 
 what is best described as "nice girls." Round-faced, 
 red-cheeked, ridiculously like their father, they had 
 all the sterling qualities of Michael Burke; and, like 
 him, lived under the iron rod of their mother's rule. 
 As they moved hither and thither now about the showy 
 room, they kept up a little whispered duologue, which 
 they interrupted every minute to take furtive 
 glances at the stiff -backed chair in which Mrs. Burke 
 sat reading a novel. 
 
 "I wonder if any one will come to-day !" Angela, the 
 younger and brighter-looking of the two, remarked, 
 as she drew a peacock-feather fire-screen into prom- 
 inence. "Wasn't last night awful?" 
 
 "I didn't think 'twas bad." 
 
 "Of course you didn't! You were sitting on the 
 stairs with Tom Norris. 'Twas very different for 
 me, having to play bridge all night with old Cusacke. 
 Oh, dear ! I'm sick of my grand relations !" 
 
 Mrs. Burke, whose hearing was as sharp as a needle,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 169 
 
 looked up from her book. "What are you talking 
 about, children?" 
 
 "Nothing, mother 1" 
 
 "Then come down here near me, Angela ! I heard a 
 ring at the door. If this is any one, Aileen, you can 
 pour out the tea." 
 
 "All right, mother !" 
 
 Mrs. Burke opened her book again. "I think Henry 
 Cusacke may turn in later," she said. "If he does, 
 I hope you'll be nice to him. It's lonesome for the 
 poor fellow away from his regiment." 
 
 Angela, who had obediently dropped to a stool at, 
 Mrs. Burke's feet, pouted her red lips. "But, mother, 
 I don't like him." 
 
 Mrs. Burke patted her cheek. "Nonsense, darling! 
 You know nothing at all about your own mind. Just 
 do as I tell you. Why, here's Mrs. Carey ! How nice 
 of you to come, Mrs. Carey ! And Mr. Norris ! And 
 Miss Norris!" She rose and greeted the guests with 
 just the due amount of artificiality, while Daisy and 
 Mary rustled forward, carefully arranging their 
 dresses as they sank into their chairs. 
 
 "I suppose Stephen hasn't been here yet, Mrs. 
 Burke?" Daisy said. 
 
 "No. Is Mr. Carey coming?" 
 
 "Yes. He promised that he'd call for us in the 
 motor." She could scarcely conceal the pride that 
 the announcement caused her. 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked a little patronising. "Oh, the 
 new motor? I hear he drives it himself now. I hope
 
 170 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 he finds it more satisfactory than poor Mr. Leader 
 did." 
 
 Daisy smiled graciously at what she considered Mrs. 
 Burke's natural jealousy. "Oh, it's the greatest suc- 
 cess, Mrs. Burke. I'm afraid 'twas poor Mr. Leader's 
 own fault that he had so much trouble with it. It 
 takes somebody who understands these things " 
 
 "No doubt, indeed! I hope you weren't tired last 
 night." 
 
 "Tired? We were just saying as we came up the 
 avenue what a lovely party it was. Weren't we, 
 Mary?" 
 
 "That's what we want, Mrs. Burke, you know !" Tom 
 broke in; "that old spirit of sociality that's dying 
 out in Ireland. I agree with my sister that I never 
 enjoyed myself so much in all my life as I did last 
 night." 
 
 Aileen Burke blushed hotly behind the big silver urn. 
 
 Mrs. Burke condescended to smile at his compliment. 
 Tom might not be the pinnacle of maternal ambition, 
 but, failing other schemes, he was not to be despised. 
 "That's very kind of you, Mr. Norris," she said af- 
 fably. "I wish everybody was as easily pleased. Will 
 you make yourself useful now, and help the girls with 
 the tea?" 
 
 With great alacrity Tom retired to the tea-table, 
 and presently the sound of muffled laughter gave 
 proof of his awkwardness and Aileen's chaffing 
 criticism. 
 
 As the cups were being passed round by Angela, the
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 171 
 
 door opened again, and Mrs. Power large, florid, 
 and smiling came forward into the circle. 
 
 "Well, Ellen, I hear there never was such a party ! 
 Josephine can talk of nothing else. How are you, 
 Daisy, dear? How are you. Mary? And Aileen and 
 Angela?" In her motherly way she kissed all the 
 girls, and then shook hands with Norris. "Indeed, 
 Tom, I heard all about you ; but we won't tell tales 
 out of school !" 
 
 Aileen once more sought shelter behind the urn, and 
 Mrs. Burke gave one of her hard laughs. "What did 
 Owen think of our bridge?" she asked, tactfully turn- 
 ing the subject. "I expect we seem very much be- 
 hindhand after Dublin." 
 
 "Indeed I didn't see Owen since last night. He went 
 on to some poker party or other, after bringing 
 Josephine home, and he wasn't up this morning when 
 I was going out to mass." 
 
 Mrs. Burke said nothing, but her face was eloquent 
 in criticism of Mrs. Power's family management. 
 
 Mary Norris laughed suddenly. "Oh, indeed, Owen 
 was enjoying himself last night, Mrs. Power! Wasn't 
 he, Aileen?" It was Mary's first contribution to the 
 conversation, and it was given in her most telling vein. 
 
 Aileen Burke gave an embarrassed little laugh. "I 
 didn't see him at all, Mary." 
 
 "Didn't you? Oh, he had a very good time last 
 night." 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked severe. "I thought Owen was 
 playing bridge all the time."
 
 172 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Oh, not all the time, indeed, Mrs. Burke ! He was 
 out in the garden first." 
 
 "Who with, Mary?" asked Mrs. Power. 
 
 Mary tossed her head. "Oh, I'm not going to 
 say who with; but they went down the Lover's 
 Walk, and Lillie O'Farrell saw them both smoking 
 cigarettes." 
 
 "Both smoking, did you say, Miss Norris?" Mrs. 
 Burke asked, her back stiffening perceptibly. "I can 
 scarcely believe that any girl in my house would do 
 such a thing as smoke." 
 
 Mary, who consumed many cigarettes a day in the 
 privacy of her own room, looked becomingly grave. 
 "Not in the house, Mrs. Burke. I said in the garden." 
 
 Mrs. Burke's lips tightened. "I confess I don't see 
 much difference between the two! And I'd like to 
 know who the girl was." 
 
 Aileen and Angela, themselves conscious of stolen 
 smokes, drew away behind the sheltering figure of 
 Mrs. Power, but Tom Norris came forward into the 
 group. 
 
 "Don't, Polly !" he said. " 'Twould be mean. After 
 all, what's in a cigarette?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing but a little paper and a bit of tobacco 
 if the girl happens to be pretty !" 
 
 "I think there's a great deal, Mr. Norris, if you ask 
 me," said Mrs. Burke severely. "I know that people 
 are getting more lax every day, but for my part, I'd 
 be very sorry indeed to see a daughter of mine smok- 
 ing."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 173 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" said Tom stoutly. "I don't 
 see any harm in it." 
 
 "Perhaps she picked up the habit abroad!" put in 
 Daisy in her pretty, mincing voice. 
 
 Mrs. Burke jumped to a quick conclusion. 
 "Abroad?" she said. "Abroad? Why, then 
 it must have been Isabel! Miss Norris, was 
 it Isabel?" 
 
 Mary shrugged her shoulders. " 'Twasn't I let the 
 cat out of the bag, anyway !" 
 
 Daisy laughed a little. "Suppose I oughtn't to have 
 said it ! But, really, Isabel seems to be getting her- 
 self so much talked about lately " 
 
 " That it doesn't matter how much more you say ?" 
 added Tom. "How like a woman !" 
 
 "For goodness' sake, Tom, talk about something you 
 understand!" said Mary irritably. 
 
 Tom became mute, and retired again to the tea-table, 
 while Mrs. Burke drew her chair nearer to Daisy's. 
 "I believe people are talking rather too much about 
 Isabel," she said in a lower tone. "Is it true, now, 
 Mrs. Carey, that she really did treat your brother-in- 
 law badly ?" 
 
 Daisy dropped instantly to the confidential key. 
 "Well, indeed, Mrs. Burke, I don't like to say any- 
 thing, but poor Frank looked more like a ghost than 
 anything else that morning that he came down from 
 New Town. I hardly knew him when he walked into 
 the dining-room." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and everybody in Waterford is saying
 
 174 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 that 'twas the Careys broke off the match," put in 
 Mary. "It's awfully hard on Daisy." 
 
 "And who minds what people say, Mary?" said Mrs. 
 Power. 
 
 "Not mind, indeed! You have to mind." 
 
 "Indeed you have," Daisy added. "A professional 
 man like Stephen can't afford to be talked about: 
 that's why it's doubly hard on me." 
 
 "Well, Daisy, I told you how you could stop all 
 talk." 
 
 "I know, Mrs. Power. By asking her to the 
 house." 
 
 "And then have her going on like she did last night !" 
 Mary supplemented. 
 
 "Miss Norris, I insist on knowing where she smoked 
 the cigarette," said Mrs. Burke, recalled to the 
 thought of her own grievance. 
 
 "In the garden, Mrs. Burke. Lillie O'Farrell went 
 out for a couple of minutes with one of the Goulding 
 boys, and while they were walking up and down in 
 front of the house, Isabel came out with Owen. Lillie 
 says she was flirting dreadfully; and she heard him 
 offer her a cigarette." 
 
 "But what's in that, Mary !" Mrs. Power exclaimed. 
 "Owen is always chaffing and going on. Who knows 
 she ever smoked at all?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, she did." 
 
 "How do you know? Did Lillie follow them?" 
 
 "Not very likely that she would!" 
 
 "Then how do you know?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 175 
 
 "I heard. Oh, there was a good deal more, only 
 I don't want to say." 
 
 "Oh, Polly, do tell us !" Daisy cried. 
 
 But Mary closed her lips. "No; I won't tell any 
 more." 
 
 "But, Miss Norris, do you think that's quite fair? 
 Surely, when there is anything to tell, it's our duty 
 to tell it for the good of others." 
 
 Mary smiled enigmatically. "Sometimes, perhaps, 
 Mrs. Burke," she said, "but not always. Don't you 
 think we ought to be going, Daisy ? I'm sure Stephen 
 had a puncture or something, and you know I have 
 that appointment at Mrs. Clarke's." 
 
 "Oh, wait a little longer !" Mrs. Burke urged. "He'll 
 be here presently. You never can be up to time with 
 a motor." 
 
 Daisy looked inclined to yield, but Mary intervened 
 again. 
 
 "But dressmakers don't take that into account, Mrs. 
 Burke," she said ; "and I have to try on a new dress at 
 Mrs. Clarke's." 
 
 Daisy rose reluctantly, and Tom tore himself away 
 from Aileen. 
 
 "What sort of a dress is it, Mary?" asked Mrs. 
 Power good-naturedly, interested, and forgetful of 
 the preceding passage of arms. 
 
 "Oh, it's only a linen for Kilmeaden, Mrs. Power. 
 We're going down in a fortnight, you know." 
 
 "Oh, yes ! And I'm wanting Stephen to let me give 
 a little dance at Lady Lane the night before we go,"
 
 176 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 announced Daisy, as she shook out her skirt and ar- 
 ranged her feather boa. "Everything will be put 
 away for the summer, and it wouldn't be a bit of 
 trouble." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Carey, can't you persuade him?" cried 
 Aileen and Angela simultaneously. " 'Twould be sim- 
 ply heavenly !" 
 
 "Of course he'll let you, Daisy," said Mrs. Power. 
 "Stephen is the soul of good-nature." 
 
 "If I were you, Mrs. Carey," advised Mrs. Burke, 
 "I'd send out the invitations and not tell him a word 
 about it till it was all settled. Men have nothing to 
 do with these things !" 
 
 Mary laughed sarcastically. "Say that to Stephen 
 Carey, Mrs. Burke! Are you coming, Daisy?" 
 
 They shook hands all round, and with a great deal 
 of chattering and laughter, left the room. 
 
 "I ought to be going too, Ellen," said Mrs. Power, 
 rising. 
 
 "Nonsense, Kate! Sit down." 
 
 "Ah, no ; I must really ! I have a lot of visits that 
 are hanging over me for months ; and anyway, I don't 
 like to keep the horse standing. Good-bye, Ellen! 
 Good-bye, girls! When are you coming to Skerry- 
 beg? You're great strangers to us." 
 
 "Indeed, it's too much amusement they have," said 
 their mother. "Aileen is giving up her painting alto- 
 gether; and as for Angela, she never touches the 
 piano." 
 
 "Perhaps they're beginning to think of other things !
 
 , THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 177 
 
 I know a little bird whispered to me that it wouldn't 
 be long before we heard something about an engage- 
 ment. Well, good-bye !" She passed out of the room, 
 smiling and nodding. 
 
 "I don't know how Kate Power can bring herself 
 to be so vulgar," said Mrs. Burke as the door closed. 
 "And what a fool she has been over those spoiled, 
 worthless sons of hers !" 
 
 "Mother, wouldn't it be lovely if the Careys give 
 the dance?" said Angela, her mind bent on her own 
 affairs. 
 
 "Indeed, if they do, your father will have to take 
 you! I can't lose another night's rest." 
 
 The girls exchanged a glance of secret joy, for it 
 was a red-letter day when Michael Burke played 
 guardian. 
 
 "Mother," said Aileen suddenly, "do you think that 
 was true about Isabel?" 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked severely judicial. "Well, I'd 
 certainly be very sorry to believe everything Mary 
 Norris says," she replied; "but I have thought more 
 than once myself that Isabel is rather free-and-easy 
 in her manner for Waterford." 
 
 "She's very pretty," said Angela with unconscious 
 philosophy. 
 
 "She's too dark for my taste. Besides, Angela, re- 
 member 'handsome is that handsome does.' ' 
 
 "Listen ! Listen, mother !" Aileen cried. "I hear a 
 motor. There's a motor coming up the avenue." 
 
 "Oh, it must be Mr. Carey ! They must have gone
 
 178 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the short cut and missed him 1" Angela rushed to the 
 window. 
 
 "It is ! It is, mother ! And guess guess do guess 
 who's with him? Aileen, come here! Quick!" 
 
 Aileen flew across the room to her sister's side, over- 
 turning a footstool as she went. 
 
 "What, in the name of goodness, is the matter ?" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Burke crossly. "One would think you 
 never saw a motor in your lives !" 
 
 With a crunching of gravel, the car sped round the 
 house, and a little cry of excitement and interest es- 
 caped the girls. 
 
 "Aileen! Angela! What on earth is it?" 
 
 But before either could collect herself sufficiently to 
 give a coherent answer, the door of the drawing-room 
 was thrown open, and Isabel Costello, with her eyes 
 dancing and her hair blown into elf-locks, walked into 
 the room, followed by Stephen Carey.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 FOR one moment there was silence in the large draw- 
 ing-room ; then Mrs. Burke rallied her social qualities 
 and met the situation. 
 
 "Isabel! And Mr. Carey! This is a surprise. A 
 very pleasant surprise!" she finished with scrupulous 
 politeness. 
 
 Carey stepped forward rather hurriedly. "Isn't my 
 wife here?" he said, as he took her hand. 
 
 "No; Mrs. Carey has just gone; she took the short 
 cut through the fields. Miss Norris had an appoint- 
 ment at the dressmaker's." 
 
 "And, of course, nothing is so important as a dress- 
 maker, Mr. Carey," said Angela, as the two girls 
 came forward, stealing furtively curious glances at 
 Isabel. 
 
 The news of Daisy's departure seemed to disconcert 
 him. He glanced round, almost as though he con- 
 templated flight. 
 
 "She might have waited," he said. "I told her I'd 
 be as soon as I could." 
 
 "Indeed, he was flying up the hill when he met me," 
 supplemented Isabel. "I felt quite guilty for stop- 
 ping the car even for a minute though the lift was 
 too tempting to refuse." Womanlike, it was she who 
 made the explanation of their presence the explana- 
 tion that instinct told her would be needed.
 
 180 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I should think so, indeed !" said Aileen kindly. "I 
 wish I had been walking up the hill !" 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked a little severe. "Won't you have 
 a cup of tea, Mr. Carey, now that you are here?" 
 
 Again Carey looked round uncomfortably. "Oh, I 
 don't know that I ought !" Then as his eyes strayed 
 round the room they lit upon Isabel, and uncon- 
 sciously his expression wavered. "Well, thanks, 
 Mrs. Burke!" he said. "Thanks! I will have a 
 cup." 
 
 "I'm glad you altered your mind ! Aileen, see after 
 Mr. Carey. Isabel, come here and sit near me." With 
 the shepherding instinct of the mother, she drew the 
 object of most danger to her own side. 
 
 "Well, Isabel, and how do you like motor-cars ?" she 
 asked, her eyes, piercing as gimlets, searching the 
 girl's face. 
 
 "Oh, I simply adore them, Mrs. Burke ! This is the 
 first I was ever in, and I thought it was like heaven." 
 
 Mrs. Burke gave one of her stiff little smiles. "I 
 hope heaven will be more peaceful, Isabel." 
 
 Isabel threw back her head. 
 
 "Oh, do you, Mrs. Burke? I don't. I wouldn't care 
 a bit for anything that was all peace and quiet." 
 
 "You mustn't say that, Isabel!" 
 
 "Why? Is it any harm?" 
 
 "Well, it's a little irreverent, isn't it?" 
 
 "Is it? I didn't mean it to be. It only seems to 
 me that heaven must be like all the loveliest things on 
 earth, only a thousand times better."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 181 
 
 "The prophet's heaven?" said Carey, smiling, as he 
 handed her her tea. 
 
 Mrs. Burke coughed nervously. "I don't think girls 
 ought to discuss theology, Mr. Carey. But perhaps 
 I'm old-fashioned." 
 
 "Is this theology?" said Carey innocently. 
 
 She stiffened her shoulders. "Oh, you know what I 
 mean. All that girls need know is that they must say 
 their prayers and never give bad example." 
 
 Isabel drank her tea, striving to keep a still tongue ; 
 while Mrs. Burke, pleased at what she considered her 
 well-timed reproof, turned to Carey with greater 
 friendliness. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Carey, so you're off to Kilmeaden soon ?" 
 
 Isabel looked up. This was the first she had heard 
 of the Careys' departure to the country. 
 
 "Yes," said Carey. "My wife is anxious to get 
 down early this year and come back in September. 
 We found Kilmeaden rather damp last October." 
 
 "That'll be very nice! And you'll find the motor 
 a great- convenience, instead of having to drive up to 
 town." 
 
 "Will you shut up the house in Lady Lane, then?" 
 Isabel asked. 
 
 "Oh, my wife puts in a charwoman, in case any 
 one wants to come to town for a night. But we live 
 altogether at Kilmeaden though I come up every 
 morning to the office." 
 
 "Ah, there's no place like the country ! It's so good 
 for the children," put in Mrs. Burke.
 
 182 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Isabel finished her tea hastily, and Carey laughed 
 a little awkwardly. "Oh, yes!" he said; "yes!" 
 
 "And what fine little fellows they are ! I met them 
 on the road the other day with the nurse. But Mrs. 
 Carey tells me you're thinking of giving a little party 
 before you go?" 
 
 "Oh, mother, she only said they were talking of it." 
 
 "But that's the same thing, isn't it, Mr. Carey?" 
 said Angela, looking up at him with her good-na- 
 tured smile. " 'Twouldn't be one bit of trouble, you 
 know, once the house is upset. You'll let Mrs. Carey 
 give it, of course. You will, now? Won't you?" 
 
 "Oh, do, Mr. Carey !" chimed in Aileen. "We were 
 saying only yesterday that there wouldn't be another' 
 dance this summer." 
 
 Carey looked at Isabel. "Miss Costello, won't you 
 stand up for me? It isn't fair, you know! Two to 
 one!" 
 
 "Oh, indeed, Isabel would love it! Wouldn't you, 
 Isabel?" 
 
 Isabel's eyes met Carey's. "Mr. Carey knows I adore 
 dancing." 
 
 "And she's only had one dance since she came home. 
 Oughtn't that soften your heart?" 
 
 "Angela, you're very tormenting! Let Mr. Carey 
 alone !" 
 
 "But, mother, it's his duty! What has he a big 
 house for, if 'tisn't to give parties?" 
 
 "Indeed, you're a great tease ! I wonder Mr. Carey 
 puts up with you. Isabel, how is your aunt?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 183 
 
 At this decisive changing of the conversation the 
 topic of the dance was dropped. 
 
 "Oh, she's very well, Mrs. Burke, thanks !" answered 
 Isabel. "Only she has one of her bad headaches to- 
 day. She said I was to excuse her. Only for it, she'd 
 have come up with me." 
 
 "Oh, poor thing! And what is she doing for it?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Nothing? What a mistake!" Mrs. Burke did a 
 little amateur doctoring on homoeopathic lines, and 
 took great pride in the results. "The minute you go 
 home, Isabel, tell her she is to take a tumbler of soda- 
 water with the juice of a lemon in it ; and if she's not 
 well in half an hour, she's to send up to me for a 
 globule. Now, don't forget ! How many simple cures 
 there are, Mr. Carey, if we only knew them!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" Carey murmured. 
 
 "You may well say so ! I believe myself that it only 
 requires a little faith and plenty of cold water to do 
 away with doctors altogether ! Isabel, you won't for- 
 get my message." 
 
 "Did you ever hear how mother gave father a Turk- 
 ish bath in hjis own room?" whispered Angela to 
 Carey. 
 
 "Never." 
 
 She waited until her mother was launched upon an- 
 other series of directions to Isabel, then she looked up 
 at him, her round face brimming with humour. 
 
 "It was long ago," she whispered, "one time father 
 had a cold. He was too bad to go out, so mother
 
 184 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 thought she'd give him a sort of Turkish bath in the 
 house, with blankets and a spirit-lamp. He fought 
 against it like anything, of course but, you know, 
 mother always has her way." 
 
 Carey nodded. 
 
 "Well, father gave in; but just as everything was 
 arranged and he was packed up in the blankets, some 
 people called to see mother. As luck would have it, 
 who should they be but Wexf ord people that she hadn't 
 seen for years, so she told poor father to keep quite 
 quiet and not to imagine the lamp was too high. an8 
 that she'd just run down and say 'How d'you do?' 
 and be back again before he knew she was gone!" 
 Here Angela went into an irrepressible titter of 
 laughter. 
 
 "Well, what do you think happened? She went 
 down, and in three minutes she was buried in all the 
 old scandals that had happened in Wexford for the 
 last twenty-five years, with every bit of thought of 
 father gone out of her head !" 
 
 Carey, seeing the picture of Michael, over the lighted 
 spirit-lamp, powerless under his weight of blankets, 
 went off into a peal of laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked round. "Is Angela amusing you, 
 Mr. Carey? She's a terrible chatterbox, I'm afraid" 
 
 "Miss Angela is very entertaining, Mrs. Burke," he 
 said "I think she ought to be given her dance. Miss 
 Angela, what was the end?" 
 
 Angela looked at him mischievously. "Oh, father 
 had escaped back to bed by the time she came up,"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 185 
 
 she whispered, "but most of the blankets were still 
 on fire ! But you won't go back of your word about 
 the dance ? Promise now, you won't !" 
 
 At this juncture Isabel stood up. "I think I must 
 be going," she said. "Good-bye, Mrs. Burke!" 
 
 To everybody's surprise Carey put down his cup 
 and rose also. 
 
 "What, Mr. Carey ! Are you going too ?" 
 
 "If Miss Costello will let me, I'll drive her home." 
 
 Isabel turned to him, all pleasure, all delight, in a 
 moment. "Oh, no! Why should I?" 
 
 "But why not? A foretaste of heaven is food for 
 the soul !" 
 
 She laughed yieldingly. 
 
 "I am sure it will be very pleasant for her to be 
 driven home," Mrs. Burke put in rather frigidly. 
 "Don't forget about the lemon for your aunt's head, 
 Isabel." 
 
 "No, Mrs. Burke !" Isabel's mind was speeding to 
 other things as she shook hands all round. 
 
 "Good-bye," cried Angela cordially. 
 
 "Good-bye!" added Aileen. "We'll come out and 
 see you off." 
 
 "No, children, I think you'd better not! There's a 
 treacherous fog these evenings, and you both had sore 
 throats last week." 
 
 The girls looked disappointed, but neither offered 
 to oppose the mandate. 
 
 "Well, we'll look at you through the window," said 
 Aileen.
 
 186 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And don't forget the dance, Mr. Carey!" Angela 
 cried, as the two guests disappeared into the hall. 
 
 The setting in motion of the engines was the work 
 of a moment, and with a good deal of skill and pre- 
 cision Carey swept his car round the open, gravelled 
 space at the corner of the house. 
 
 In a vague flash he saw the faces of the Burke girls 
 pressed against the drawing-room window, but the im- 
 pression passed with the presence of the house, and 
 he drew a quick, deep breath of relief. 
 
 "What a woman !" he said. "What an atmosphere !" 
 It was remarkable that he spoke his thoughts as 
 though he were alone, that by some hidden link of 
 comradeship he did not question whether Isabel would 
 understand. 
 
 "Yes, I know!" she said quickly. "Don't you feel 
 that you can't stand it for one second longer that 
 you must get up and scream in the very middle of 
 what she's saying?" 
 
 Unconsciously Carey checked the pace of the car, 
 and they passed almost slowly through the gates. 
 
 "Good God!" he said, "I've sometimes felt that no 
 man in his senses would stand this life for a single 
 year ! Talk of rats in a trap !" 
 
 They swerved out into the. high-road ; but instead of 
 turning down the steep hill that led directly 
 into Waterford, he drove straight on, making a 
 detour. 
 
 Isabel sat with her hands clasped loosely in her lap, 
 every nerve quivering to the moment.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 187 
 
 "Have you wanted to get out into the world, then?" 
 she said. 
 
 "Yes ! Lord, yes ! There was a time But 
 
 what's the good " 
 
 Her glance dropped to his hands, strong and steady 
 on the steering wheel. "Won't you tell me?" she 
 whispered. "I'd love to hear." 
 
 There was nothing to alarm in the low, enticing 
 voice, and he yielded, half unconsciously, to its per- 
 suasion. "Oh, it's only that I built my castles once !" 
 he said, "and that, with half a chance, I might 
 have made my way. A man isn't a man in a place 
 like this ! What sort of a life is it ? Stagnation. 
 The same round, the same faces, the same work, 
 autumn, winter, and spring, and in the summer 
 Kilmeaden !" He gave one of his sarcastic laughs. 
 
 "But if you liked you could go away you have 
 money." 
 
 For answer he increased the speed of the car, send- 
 ing it spinning forward. "Miss Costello," he said, 
 "look at the rut at the side of this road ! If I ran the 
 car into that rut, we'd have to get ropes and men and 
 horses to drag her out 'twouldn't help her one atom 
 that she's forty horse-power in herself." 
 
 She grasped the simile, and followed it up. 
 
 "Yes, but you'd get the car out, however you man- 
 aged it !" 
 
 "Ah, you're right there! And perhaps I've had 
 thoughts for myself too." 
 
 She felt her senses quicken at the sudden fire that
 
 188 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 touched his voice, glowing up through his words, and 
 her impetuous nature leaped to a response. 
 
 "Oh, I wish you weren't going away !" 
 
 Carey reddened reddened as though no span of 
 years or tale of responsibilities had sealed the book 
 of his youth. "Why do you say that ?" he asked in a 
 low, controlled voice, from which he resolutely shut 
 out the eagerness, the curiosity that were welling in 
 his mind. 
 
 "I don't know. Because because you're different 
 from the others and I'll miss you." 
 
 The subtle flattery moved him. "You'll miss me? 
 Do you mean that?" 
 
 She nodded silently ; and as he turned to catch her 
 expression, his glance rested on her eyes, with their 
 thick black lashes on her warm mouth on the elf- 
 locks blown across her smooth, soft cheek; and 
 the things of the world, the things he had denied, 
 surged up overwhelmingly. "You oughtn't to miss 
 me," he said unevenly. " 'Tis I ought to miss 
 you." 
 
 Isabel looked down. "I wish you weren't going P' 
 
 " 'Twon't be for long ; I'll see you again soon." 
 
 Her glance flashed back to his, quick and eager. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 The little whispered word sent his blood racing 
 through his veins, and for one fierce moment the 
 temptation to say "I'll be alone at the office every 
 day" rose insistently ; but with a sudden shame at his 
 own thought he flung it aside.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 189 
 
 "My wife is going to ask you out to Kilmeaden," 
 he said instead. 
 
 "Me? To Kilmeaden?" She flushed to her temples 
 with swift, incredulous delight. 
 
 "Yes. You'll come, won't you?" Unconsciously he 
 slackened speed again. 
 
 Her glance fell. 
 
 He misinterpreted her silence. "Oh, but you must 
 come," he said quickly. "I won't allow you to refuse. 
 Look here! I'll make you a promise! You like the 
 car. Well, I'll take you for such drives as you'll 
 never forget! Will that tempt you?" 
 
 Isabel still looked down at her clasped hands, her 
 colour coming and going. 
 
 "Isabel !" 
 
 It was the first time he had used her name, though 
 she had long ago ceased to be "Miss Costello" to all 
 his people, and she started, as though he had touched 
 her, the hot tide of blood rushing back into her face. 
 
 The car was barely moving; he bent closer to her. 
 "You're not angry ? Say you will come !" 
 
 Then at last she met his glance, her own eyes alight 
 with sudden exultation. 
 
 "I'm not angry I will come."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "LISTEN, Mary! Will this do?" Daisy looked up 
 from the flimsy little walnut escritoire that was her 
 special pride, and smoothed out a sheet of pink note- 
 paper that she had just covered with round, childish 
 writing. 
 
 "Go on ! What is it? Mary was tucking a white 
 muslin collar that was to adorn her linen dress at 
 Kilmeaden, and the attention she gave to Daisy was 
 divided. 
 
 "Can't you listen, then! 'Dear Isabel, I am writ- 
 ing to ask you to join us on Thursday evening at 
 about eight. We are having a few people here, as 
 it's our last night before going to Kilmeaden.' ' 
 
 Daisy put down the note and looked across at her 
 sister. "I must say that, you know. If I said it 
 was a dance, half Waterford would be indignant be- 
 cause they weren't asked." 
 
 "Well, go on!" 
 
 " 'Also, I am very anxious to have you with us for 
 a few days in the country. It will only be a sort of 
 family party ; but if you don't mind that, I wish you 
 would arrange to come out for a week. We could 
 fix about it on Thursday. With kind regards to Miss 
 Costello, I am, yours sincerely, Daisy Carey.' It 
 sounds fearfully abrupt, doesn't it?" 
 
 Mary was threading her needle. "Not at all!" she
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 191 
 
 said conclusively. "It's too agreeable, if you ask 
 me!" 
 
 "Oh, Polly !" 
 
 "Yes, 'tis. And I think you're a great fool, Daisy, 
 to be led into asking her at all." 
 
 Daisy folded the pink note and slowly put it into 
 an envelope. "ItV awfully hard always to do the 
 right thing," she complained. "I'm sure I don't want 
 her any more than you do, but I can't have the 
 Nevilles and the Cranes and all that crowd saying 
 we ruined her chances ; and you know they have said 
 it !" Strengthened by her argument, she fastened the 
 envelope and addressed it. 
 
 Mary pursed up her lips and began a fresh tuck. 
 
 "Well, I hope it's for the best !" Daisy looked at the 
 envelope, weakening again. 
 
 Mary kept silent. 
 
 "Polly, why on earth can't you say something?" 
 
 "I never give advice where it isn't wanted. You can 
 do what you like, of course; I'm sure, I only hope 
 you won't regret it." 
 
 "Don't say things like that! They depress me." 
 
 "Don't be depressed without cause you may have 
 it some time." 
 
 "Mary, what on earth is the matter with you to- 
 day?" 
 
 But Mary was not disposed to be communicative; 
 and presently, having waited in vain for some sign, 
 Daisy in common justification of herself was com- 
 pelled to ring for Julia and send her letter to the post.
 
 192 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Well, it's gone now, any way !" she said with relief. 
 "For goodness' sake, let us forget it, and talk about 
 the dance!" She got up from her desk and came 
 round to Mary's side. 
 
 "Polly, I wonder if 'twould be better, after all, to 
 have a 'sit down' supper?" 
 
 "Supper ! What on earth for? Isn't it a 'Cinderella' 
 dance?" 
 
 "Yes, but you know they won't go at twelve." 
 
 "I didn't say they would. But as long as they know 
 it's 'Cinderella,' they know they'll get nothing to eat. 
 Indeed, I'd be long sorry to give them anything but 
 tea and coffee and ices." 
 
 "Stephen insists on chicken and ham at least." 
 
 "What nonsense! A lot Stephen knows about it!" 
 
 "Well, I can't help it. He says men must have some- 
 thing to eat." 
 
 "Rubbish! If men have something to drink, it's 
 much more to the purpose." 
 
 "Polly, how can you!" Daisy looked shocked. 
 
 Mary let her sewing lie idle in her lap. " 'Pon my 
 word, Daisy," she said, looking up at her sister, 
 "you're like a girl at school ! How on earth a married 
 woman with three children can keep on being shocked 
 at this, and shocked at that, like you do, is more than 
 I can understand! Do you really think life is all 
 visiting and dressing and fussing over babies?" 
 
 Daisy looked deeply offended. "I think you say very 
 queer things sometimes, Mary! I don't think a nice 
 woman ought to want to know anything outside
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 193 
 
 her home and I'm sure Stephen wouldn't wish 
 me to." 
 
 Mary's lip curled. "Oh, that's quite likely ! There's 
 nothing so convenient to the ordinary man as an ig- 
 norant wife." 
 
 Daisy flushed. "I'm as well educated as you, Mary 
 though I may not read Tolstoy and Zola, and those 
 horrible foreign writers." 
 
 Mary laughed. "Oh, Fm not talking of mathemat- 
 ics or Euclid; I know you passed your exams, at 
 school." 
 
 "What do you mean, then?" 
 
 "Never mind ! Wasn't that a ring at the hall door ?" 
 
 In a moment the little skirmish was forgotten. Mary 
 rolled up her work and thrust it behind a vase ; while 
 Daisy flew to the glass over the mantelpiece to ar- 
 range her hair. 
 
 "Who can it be?" 
 
 "How do I know? Sit down, for goodness' sake!" 
 
 As they made a rush for their respective chairs, the 
 door opened. 
 
 "Why, it's only Father James !" Daisy cried in a 
 tone of relief, and they both rose and went forward 
 towards the door. 
 
 Father Baron came into the room with his usual de- 
 liberate slowness, and put out a hand to each of them. 
 
 "Well ! Well ! Well ! A very dull visitor, I suppose !" 
 
 "Indeed, no!" Daisy cried. "We were just dread- 
 ing 'twas some woman. Come in, Father James ! Were 
 you down with Stephen?"
 
 194 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 He allowed himself to be drawn into the room. "In- 
 deed, I had lunch with him," he said; "and he told 
 me he'd be on here after me. And how is Miss Mary ?" 
 He turned his small, dark, kindly eyes from Daisy's 
 face to her sister's with a glance of absolute goodwill. 
 
 Mary looked up at him frankly, for in the light of 
 the old man's simplicity her sarcasm always lost point. 
 
 "As well as we can expect to be in this world, Father 
 James." 
 
 "Oh, come, come, Mary!" he cried. "That's not 
 the way to talk ! It's for the like of me to be saying 
 that, with my sixty-ninth birthday coming on next 
 week, and my poor bones eaten up with the rheuma- 
 tism! It's a shame for her now, Daisy, isn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, Daisy will agree with you! We were fighting 
 when you came in." 
 
 He looked from one to the other with a smile. "And 
 what harm if you were!" was his characteristic re- 
 tort. "Sure, life wouldn't be worth anything at all 
 if it wasn't for a fight now and again. Hard words 
 break no bones!" 
 
 They both laughed at his unanswerable philosophy. 
 
 "You're awfully funny, Father James! I believe 
 you'd find an excuse for Lucifer !" 
 
 "Well, child, and maybe I would," he said. "Daisy, 
 am I going to see the sons at all?" 
 
 Daisy flushed with pleasure. "Oh, would you like 
 to? I'll run up for them! I won't be a minute! 
 They'd love to see you." She hurried across to the 
 door, attractive at once in her spontaneous natural
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 195 
 
 pride in the thought of her children. "I won't be 
 long ! I won't be a minute !" she cried as she disap- 
 peared. 
 
 As the door closed upon her, Father Baron turned 
 again to Mary. "Well, child," he said affectionately, 
 "I don't think I saw you since that night of that din- 
 ner-party! Is Master Tom as busy as ever, regen- 
 erating the country?" 
 
 "As silly as ever, you mean, Father James!" 
 "Ah, now ! Ah, now !" he said gently. "We mustn't 
 judge any one too quick, Mary! And tell me what 
 about that little gipsy that was here ? I asked Stephen 
 to-day if it's true what they're saying about her and 
 Frank, but he didn't seem to like the question, so I 
 didn't press it." 
 
 "Oh, Isabel Costello ! I'm sick of her very name !" 
 Father James looked grave. "Mary ! Mary ! Mary ! 
 Is that the child that made her first confession to 
 me!" 
 
 "Oh, well, I can't help it, Father James!" 
 "And what has the poor gipsy done?" 
 "I can't explain to you. She is different from the 
 rest of us." 
 
 He smiled indulgently. "And perhaps a little 
 change is no harm !" 
 
 "Or it may be great harm, Father James." 
 He glanced at her searchingly, but when he spoke 
 again it was in the same gentle tone. "Ah, well!" 
 he said; "it's not for us to judge her, Mary. The 
 poor child will meet her own troubles."
 
 196 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 It was Mary's turn to look shrewdly at him. 
 
 "What makes you say that, Father James?" 
 
 "Well, I only saw her the once, of course and I'm 
 open to make a mistake; but it struck me then that 
 maybe life wouldn't be too easy for her. She's 
 one, God help her, that'll be asking too much from 
 it!" 
 
 Mary walked slowly across the room, and took her 
 muslin collar from behind the vase. 
 
 "Father James," she said with apparent irrelevance, 
 "how did you think Stephen Carey looking?" 
 
 Whatever may have been Father Baron's thought, 
 his answer was non-committal. "Indeed, we had so 
 much to talk about, Mary," he said, "that I didn't 
 take any great notice. But here's Daisy with the 
 children !" 
 
 As he spoke, the door opened and Daisy entered, 
 smiling and unaffected, with one small boy walking 
 close to her skirts and another, a couple of years 
 younger, held in her arms. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, Father James, Baby is asleep ! But 
 I brought you Ted and Francis." 
 
 "Well ! Well ! Wasn't that bad manners of Master 
 James, now? To be asleep after his namesake com- 
 ing all the way from Scarragh to see him! I don't 
 think Ted would do a thing like that." In this round- 
 about, tactful way he banished any shyness the elder 
 boy might feel, and drew him into speech before he 
 was aware. 
 
 "I think Baby is a silly fellow," he said, stepping
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 197 
 
 from his mother's side, and looking up into the priest's 
 face. "He's asleep half the day." 
 
 Father James put his hand on the small red head, 
 with a touch as gentle as a woman's, and raised the 
 intelligent, freckled little face. 
 
 "Is he, now, Ted?" he said thoughtfully. "Is he, 
 now?" Then he shook off the momentary gravity 
 that the child's presence had aroused, and turned to- 
 wards the second boy, who was hiding a very fair 
 head against his mother's shoulder. 
 
 "Well, young man," he said, making no attempt to 
 touch him, "and what do you think about this brother 
 of yours?" 
 
 The child raised his face an inch or two, and took a 
 sidelong look at the priest. 
 
 "Come, now! Come, now, love! Speak to Father 
 James ! That's a good boy !" Very gently Daisy 
 set him down on the ground, pushing him slowly for- 
 ward. "Shake hands, now, and give him a kiss !" 
 
 Overpowered by the shyness that is the charm of 
 many Irish children, Francis clung to her fingers, 
 pressing close to her skirts for protection. 
 
 But the old priest understood the childish heart far 
 too intimately to make any onslaught; so, quietly 
 turning his back, he moved to a distant chair, from 
 which he beckoned confidentially to Ted. 
 
 "All right! Very well!" he said. "But I think I 
 know somebody that'll have a ride on Father James's 
 horses. Come, Ted ! We're going to take the horses 
 out. Come, now! What are their names?"
 
 198 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I know ! I remember, Father James ! 'Trample- 
 the-Daisy' and 'Spatter-the-Dew' !" In high delight, 
 Ted rushed forward and placed himself between the 
 old priest's knees, looking up excitedly into his face. 
 
 Father James smiled down at him in as much pride 
 as if he were his own son. "That's it, Ted ! That's 
 right! Come, now, they're wild to be off! Pick up 
 the reins like a man." He began to move his feet to 
 imitate the movements of an impatient horse. 
 
 Ted, flushed with excitement and earnestness, put his 
 round little hand on the cheap black cord that served 
 the priest as a watch-chain. 
 
 "Well, now! Which will you have?" 
 
 " 'Trample-the-Daisy,' Father James !" 
 
 "All right! Up you go!" He hoisted him tri- 
 umphantly on to one knee, where he sat astride, with 
 tightened legs and hands that gripped the watch- 
 chain for life or death. 
 
 But a shriek of protest from the other end of the 
 room stopped the game, as Francis, with outstretched 
 arms and unsteady feet, lurched forward, followed by 
 his mother. Reaching the priest's side, he put one 
 fat hand on the vacant knee, and looked up into his 
 face with bright, shy eyes. 
 
 "Me yide, too!" he said. 
 
 For an instant Father James looked down into the 
 anxious little face ; then with an infinitely gentle 
 movement he lifted the child and held him close. 
 "Why, then, indeed you will !" he said. "You'll ride 
 the best horse in Father James's stable the best
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 199 
 
 horse vacant," he added, seeing Ted's face fall. "And 
 that's <Spatter-the-Dew' !" 
 
 There was uproar in the drawing-room for the next 
 ten minutes; and while it was yet at its height, 
 the door opened and Carey walked into the 
 room. 
 
 Usually Carey's full favour was meted out to his 
 sons. For years past, the sum of pride and of ambi- 
 tion had centred round their sturdy limbs, their 
 bright faces, the promise of intelligence in their halt- 
 ing speech ; and usually, coming upon such a scene as 
 this, he would have flung his cares from him and, 
 throwing himself into the tide of young life, have 
 become young himself in his children's happiness. 
 But to-day it was different; to-day he stood just in- 
 side the door, looking, but saying nothing. 
 
 "Oh, father, father! I'm winning! 'Trample-the- 
 Daisy' is winning! Father, he's won! He's won!" 
 Ted's voice rose shrill with excitement, as Father 
 James allowed his legs to subside into well-earned rest, 
 and, taking his arm from round the younger boy, 
 wiped his streaming forehead. 
 
 Then Carey came forward into the room. "Daisy," 
 he said severely, "you oughtn't to allow them to play 
 on Father James like that! It's disgraceful! He's 
 perfectly exhausted." 
 
 Father Baron laughed. "I wish I was oftener ex- 
 hausted, then. That's all I have to say ! Now, Fran- 
 cis, are you fond of Father James?" 
 
 With a charming shy grace the child looked up.
 
 200 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Is !" he said simply, and put up his mouth to be 
 kissed. 
 
 The old priest touched his lips almost reverently, 
 and the two children slid to the ground and ran 
 across to their father. 
 
 Stephen put a hand on either head; and to Mary 
 and Father James, both watching closely, it almost 
 seemed that impatience crossed the tenderness of the 
 act. 
 
 "Take them upstairs, Daisy!" he said a moment 
 after. "I have a splitting headache. Run off, now, 
 like good boys !" He stooped quickly and kissed them. 
 
 Daisy and Mary went out, each leading one of the 
 children, and as the door closed on them Carey threw 
 himself into a chair. 
 
 "I'm dog tired !" he said. 
 
 Father James who had instructed him for the 
 sacraments, married him, and baptised his children 
 knew him too well to proffer any sympathy. He sat 
 quite still, fingering his watch-chain, and waiting for 
 the next outbeak. 
 
 It came before very long. "Good God, but I am 
 tired!" Stephen sat forward, taking his head be- 
 tween his hands. 
 
 "You're overworked. Kilmeaden will put you right." 
 
 "Kilmeaden !" He laughed sarcastically ; then his 
 tone changed. "You'll come out to us, Father James 
 next month, anyway?" 
 
 Father James looked deprecating. "I don't know 
 that I ought, Stephen ! I oughtn't to be going there
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 201 
 
 every year, taking up room. An old priest is a clog 
 
 on young people." 
 "What nonsense! I'll be glad enough to have you, 
 
 for one. The place will be infested with Norrises." 
 "Stephen! Stephen! You're in a black mood!" 
 Carey was silent for a while, then he lifted his face. 
 
 "It's not me, Father James," he said; "it's the world 
 
 that's out of joint."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 IN the bedrooms at Lady Lane the curtains had been 
 removed from the windows, the blinds pulled down, 
 and the mattresses on the beds rolled up and covered 
 with brown paper, while downstairs the drawing-room 
 furniture had been stacked away, chair on chair, and 
 loomed forth, rigid and ghostly, under its holland 
 shroud. With the exception of the dining-room, 
 Daisy's bedroom, and the drawing-room, the house 
 spoke eloquently of immediate desertion ; but in these 
 three instances the contrast was marked. In the din- 
 ing-room the big gasalier was fully lighted a sure 
 token of festivity, and the long table groaned under 
 a weight of hams, chickens, creams, and jellies; in 
 Daisy's bedroom the dressing-table, brightly lighted 
 with wax candles, was set out with the trays of pins 
 and hairpins, the silver-backed brushes, even the box 
 of crushed starch suitable to a night of entertain- 
 ment; while in the drawing-room the centre and 
 pivot of the coming gaiety a long stretch of waxed 
 floor, a piano drawn into a remote corner, and a row 
 of chairs standing like sentinels against the wall, pro- 
 claimed aloud that it was the hour before a dance. 
 
 It was eight o'clock, and the soft evening light was 
 making a valiant attempt to struggle through the 
 chinks of the Venetian blinds and offer a challenge to 
 the flood of gaslight filling the room; by the white
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 203 
 
 marble mantelpiece Daisy, in a pretty gauze dress, 
 was dividing her attention between a bank of gerani- 
 ums and maidenhair fern clustering on the mantel- 
 board, and her own image reflected in the mirror; 
 while at the other end of the room Mary was sprink- 
 ling French chalk from a flour-dredger, while Tom 
 Norris followed after, working it into the floor by 
 long, sliding steps. 
 
 At last Mary stopped, shaking some of the chalk 
 from her skirt. "That'll do now ! Nobody can walk 
 across the room if it's slippier than this." 
 
 Tom took a flying slide down the room. "It's 
 grand !" he announced. "Have a turn, Polly ! Daisy, 
 play us a waltz !" 
 
 Daisy looked round. "Ah, no, Tom ! I'm much too 
 nervous ! Supposing anybody came !" 
 
 "Well, and if they did, couldn't you stop? We'd 
 hear the ring. Come on, don't be so disagreeable !" 
 
 She moved slowly towards the piano. "Isn't it 
 frightful, Miss Maguire not being here yet ! I think 
 when you pay a person to play, the least they might 
 do is to be punctual. What waltz do you want?" 
 
 "Anything at all, only hurry up !" 
 
 Still with reluctance, she began to play a musical 
 comedy tune, and Tom advanced upon Mary. "Come 
 along, Poll! We'll have a fling before anybody 
 comes." 
 
 But Mary pushed him off with considerable vigour. 
 "Indeed, you'll put on your gloves if you're going 
 to dance with me !"
 
 204 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "What's the matter with my hands ? I washed them 
 before dinner." 
 
 "I'll stop, if you don't begin!" Daisy announced. 
 "I'm not going to play all night, while you stand 
 there fighting!" 
 
 Tom shrugged his shoulders, and grudgingly 
 drew a pair of white gloves from his coat-tail 
 pocket. 
 
 But notwithstanding her little triumph, Mary was 
 never called upon to execute the preliminary dance; 
 for, while Tom was still fumbling with his glove but- 
 tons, the hall-door bell pealed loudly and Daisy's waltz 
 came to a confused end. 
 
 "Good Heavens ! It's somebody !" she cried. "Miss 
 Maguire would never attempt to ring like that. Mary, 
 for goodness' sake, come and stand near me ! I won- 
 der where Stephen is?" 
 
 "Oh, Stephen has only just commenced to shave!" 
 
 "Hurry! Can't you hurry, Mary! I hear them 
 coming upstairs. Tom, remember you must talk, 
 whoever it is ; and if it's any one at all passee, you 
 must engage dances. Now, don't forget !" 
 
 "Don't be afraid! You won't give me a chance to. 
 I'll never forget your picnic last year. I spent the 
 whole of a gorgeous afternoon opening soda-water 
 bottles ; and then, when it came to evening, and I 
 might have had some fun, I was packed off to ride 
 home with Mrs. Fisher, because she was so short- 
 sighted she might run into something ! Oh, no, Daisy, 
 I know my place at your parties !"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 205 
 
 "Be quiet, for goodness' sake !" whispered Daisy 
 nervously, as the door was opened and Julia's flushed 
 face was thrust forward. 
 
 "Miss Costello, ma'am !" she announced. 
 
 Mary, whose back was to the door, made a wry face, 
 but Daisy looked relieved. 
 
 "Oh, Isabel !" she said. "How are you?" 
 
 Isabel stepped into the room, then paused, discon- 
 certed at finding herself the first guest. 
 
 "Oh, I'm too early !" she said. "Our clock must be 
 wrong." 
 
 "Not at all, Miss Costello ! Not at all !" Tom came 
 forward good-naturedly. "It's only that Waterford 
 people think it fashionable to be late. How are you !" 
 He took her hand, smiling with involuntary admira- 
 tion. 
 
 For Isabel was radiant to-night. For the first time 
 since the Fair Hill dance she was wearing the white 
 muslin dress that had honoured her debut; and with 
 the consciousness of her finery, some of the first pride 
 had returned. To-night, too, she was carrying an 
 old Spanish fan, and wearing a high tortoiseshell 
 comb, that in a moment of generosity Miss Costello 
 had unearthed from a chest of family relics ; and as 
 she stepped into the lighted room, she brought with 
 her an air, a distinction, that might have belonged 
 to another generation, a charm beside which Daisy 
 and Mary sank into insignificance. 
 
 They both looked at her, appraising her shrewdly 
 from her high-heeled slippers to the tip of the beauti-
 
 206 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 ful old comb; then Daisy stepped forward. "How 
 are you?" she said again, a little less eagerly. 
 
 Isabel took her hand. "I must thank you about 
 Kilmeaden," she said at once. "It's very, very kind 
 of you !" 
 
 "Not at all!" said Daisy, a little awkwardly. "I 
 hope you'll come. Any time next month will suit us ; 
 we'll be perfectly settled in a week or two." 
 
 Isabel's lips parted to reply, but before she could 
 frame the words, Mary stepped forward, an aggra- 
 vating little sneer on her lips. "I don't suppose Isa- 
 bel will care much for Kilmeaden." 
 
 "Oh, why not, Polly?" Tom cried. "Kilmeaden isn't 
 half bad, as the country goes." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of Kilmeaden itself. I was only 
 wondering how she'd like the party." She turned to 
 Isabel. "Can you imagine yourself having a good 
 time with only Daisy and me and Tom and Father 
 Baron?" 
 
 Isabel coloured under the glance levelled at her, 
 for Mary's sharp green eyes could convey a mul- 
 titude of words that never found vent in speech. 
 "I I imagine 'twould be very nice," she said 
 confusedly. 
 
 Mary laughed. "Oh, that's all right, then! And, 
 of course, I didn't count the party quite rightly. 
 There'll be Stephen as well." Her glance held the 
 other's in a satirical, unfriendly stare. 
 
 Tom and Daisy saw nothing of the little duel of 
 looks ; but Isabel, swift of intuition, acknowledged
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 207 
 
 the cut and thrust, and in a second pride surged up, 
 ousting reason, expediency, even personal desire. 
 
 She caught her breath, and the first words that came 
 to her lips poured out, one upon the other. 
 
 "You didn't let me finish while ago," she said. "I 
 was just going to say to Mrs. Carey that I'm sure 
 'twould be lovely at Kilmeaden, but that I'm afraid 
 my aunt won't be able to let me go." 
 
 Amazement spread over Daisy's face. "But why 
 not?" she said. "I thought it was settled." 
 
 "Oh, why, Miss Costello?" Tom cried. 
 
 But like the preliminary dance, Isabel's possible ex- 
 planation was forgotten in the sound of the door bell, 
 and presently Daisy, Mary, and Tom were submerged 
 in a sea of arriving guests. 
 
 As they disappeared from her sight, Isabel drew 
 back against the wall. Never until that moment had 
 she realised how poignantly interesting the visit to 
 Kilmeaden had been how closely she had counted on 
 it how vividly every hour of it had been pictured 
 by her imagination; and as the vision crumbled, a 
 sick sense of loss and of futility surged up, darken- 
 ing the world. 
 
 While she stood there, hiding herself behind the 
 laughing crowd, the musician passed up the room to 
 the piano, and amid a hum of excitement partners 
 were chosen for the first dance. 
 
 With the opening bars of the waltz the throng in 
 front of her melted away, and immediately she was 
 seen and seized upon.
 
 208 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I thought I'd never find you !" cried the familiar 
 voice of Willie Neville. "Give me a dance, do ! The 
 others will be up in a minute, and I won't have a 
 chance." 
 
 She smiled vaguely. "If you like," she said, think- 
 ing it would be easier to reconcile her disappointment 
 whirling round the room under Willie's laboured 
 guidance than standing awkwardly alone. So Willie 
 had the privilege of leading her out into the circle 
 of dancers, feeling that the eyes of every man followed 
 him with envy. 
 
 They danced the waltz to the end; and, still elated 
 by his triumph, he led her towards the door. 
 
 "You'll have a cup of tea, won't you ?" he said, wip- 
 ing his streaming forehead, for the night was hot 
 and the dance had been long. 
 
 "Yes, I'll have some tea." 
 
 This was the extent of their conversation as they 
 passed downstairs, a dozen noisy couples making a 
 passage in front of them, another dozen following 
 upon their heels; and when they entered the dining- 
 room and Willie, still hot and beaming, forced a way 
 to the table, she took the cup of tea from his hand 
 with scarcely a glance. 
 
 "Aren't you enjoying yourself to-night?" he asked, 
 struck suddenly by her silence, and moved to blunt 
 expression. 
 
 The question roused her; she looked at him and 
 smiled again, this time more kindly. 
 
 "Do you know, I'm not, Willie !" she said candidly ;
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 209 
 
 "and I wouldn't have believed it, if anybody had told 
 me I could be at a dance and not adore it !" 
 
 "But why?" he asked. 
 
 "Because I've been a fool and because I'm angry 
 with myself." 
 
 "It's a great mistake to be angry with yourself," 
 said a voice behind them, "because you'll have nobody 
 to go to for sympathy." 
 
 The voice came with absolute unexpectedness, and 
 Isabel's cup made a nervous little clatter in its saucer, 
 as she turned sharply to meet Carey's eyes. 
 
 It was only a matter of half a dozen words, but their 
 influence was magical. Interest flashed out like light- 
 ning from the black cloud of disappointment; in an 
 instant the chatter of voices about her, the tapping of 
 feet overhead, the hum and stir pervading the house, 
 took on shape and meaning. 
 
 Forgetful of her partner's existence, she allowed 
 Carey to take her empty cup, while her heart leaped at 
 his next words. 
 
 "The second dance is beginning, will you give it to 
 me?" 
 
 "Willie Neville drew back, thinking it was unneces- 
 sary of Carey, even though he was the host, to ap- 
 propriate the prettiest girl in the room, and pitying 
 Isabel. 
 
 "Can I have another later on?" he ventured, as 
 Carey offered his arm. And Isabel, soaring high on 
 the wings of joy, gave him a smile such as he had 
 never received in all his narrow life.
 
 210 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Two, if you like !" she said. 
 
 Neither she nor Carey spoke as they made their way 
 through the press of people circling round the tea- 
 table, but outside in the hall he paused and looked 
 down at her. 
 
 "Do you want to dance?" 
 
 "Not unless you like." She was strangely content 
 to do as he willed. 
 
 "Then we'll sit it out !" He drew her down the hall 
 towards two vacant chairs. "Sit down here, and tell 
 me what the trouble is !" 
 
 There was an unfamiliar note in his voice, a sug- 
 gestion of protectiveness, a hint of tenderness. 
 
 "Oh, don't remind me!" Isabel cried, real pain in 
 her voice. "I'm so sorry so disappointed I've been 
 such a fool." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 She opened and closed her fan with a little nervous 
 movement. "Please, don't ask me ! I'd rather forget." 
 
 "Nonsense! It's worth telling, if it can make you 
 unhappy." It was remarkable that he, who had once 
 dealt so summarily with her, should be so solicitous 
 for her now. 
 
 "What does that matter?" 
 
 "It does matter." 
 
 "To you?" 
 
 He was silent for a moment, while the persistent 
 waltz was hammered out upon the piano overhead and 
 the feet pounded unceasing. Then at last he an- 
 swered without looking up, "Yes."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 211 
 
 She had tempted the word, and now that it came 
 it disconcerted her. She reddened and, to cover her 
 embarrassment, rushed into speech. 
 
 "It was only that when I came here to-night, Mrs. 
 Carey spoke to me about going to Kilmeaden; and 
 just when I was thanking her and going to say that 
 I'd love to come, Mary Norris joined in, and " 
 
 "Yes? Mary generally joins in." 
 
 "I can't explain it properly, but she was horrible 
 she was detestable! She made me forget every- 
 thing but that I hated her, and that I couldn't take 
 anything from from any of them. And so " 
 
 "Yes?" His tone was low. 
 
 "Oh, before I had time to think, or to realise what 
 I was doing, I just said that I was sorry I couldn't 
 come to Kilmeaden because Aunt Teresa couldn't 
 spare me. 'Twas a lie, of course !" 
 
 When she had finished there was a long pause. 
 
 "You might say you're sorry !" she added in a plain- 
 tive voice. 
 
 Still Carey remained silent. 
 
 "You might say you're sorry even if 'tisn't true !" 
 
 Ignoring her half -flippant tone, he turned to her 
 with sudden seriousness. "But you'll have to come," 
 he said. "You gave me your word you promised 
 me." 
 
 It was the first time since the early days that he had 
 used the tone of authority, and to Isabel the familiar 
 mastery brought a sudden thrill. 
 
 "But how can I now?"
 
 212 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "You must." 
 
 "But how?" She felt like a swimmer who rejoices in 
 the lift and drop of a strong wave. Carey was so 
 decisive, so set to his purpose so much a man. 
 
 "Shall I show you?" he said. 
 
 While she had been telling her story he had caught 
 sight of his wife's figure at the top of the stairs, and 
 the fact had held inspiration. He stood up now, and 
 slowly and uncertainly Isabel followed. 
 
 "Come! Come, and I'll show you!" 
 
 Without giving her time to remonstrate he led her 
 down the hall, and as they reached the foot of the 
 staircase Daisy came down, chattering and laughing, 
 on her partner's arm. 
 
 "Oh, Stephen !" she said, as they passed each other, 
 "I was wondering where you were. Do see if any- 
 body is wanting tea !" 
 
 But Carey paused. "Just a second, Daisy!" he 
 said; "MacCarthy will excuse you." 
 
 MacCarthy, the partner, immediately relinquished 
 his rights and passed on to the foot of the stairs, 
 while Daisy, looking a little surprised, remained 
 standing where she was, and Isabel, in sudden per- 
 turbation, let her fingers slip from Carey's arm. 
 
 "It's only that I've been talking to Miss Costello, 
 Daisy, and that I've got her to admit that her aunt 
 can very well do without her. So we may expect her at 
 Kilmeaden, after all." 
 
 Daisy looked relieved. "Is that all? I mean, is 
 it only that?" she added, smiling. "I was terrified
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 213 
 
 something was going wrong with the dance. I'm 
 awfully glad, Isabel ! We'll fix it all to-night. Ex- 
 cuse me now. I mustn't keep Mr. MacCarthy." She 
 smiled again in a preoccupied way, and, without a 
 shadow of misgiving, ran down the stairs. 
 
 To avoid the stream of couples that was pouring 
 down upon them, Carey put his hand on Isabel's arm 
 and drew her back against the bannister. He was a 
 step above her, and could look down into her face 
 even more easily than usual. 
 
 "Well?" he said, and in his voice there was the ring 
 of vitality that comes when a man has shaped some 
 incident of his own desires. 
 
 Had they known it then, they were standing upon 
 the brink: a look or a word might have sealed the 
 matter. But the look and the word were wanting, for 
 the comedy of the emotions is not played consciously 
 in such surroundings. When reality is faced it is as 
 a blinding light suddenly revealed, rather than as a 
 pleasant radiance to which the eyes have grown ac- 
 customed through many surreptitious liftings of the 
 veil. Neither knew, neither understood, and, without 
 doubt, fate smiled. 
 
 "Well?" Carey said again. 
 
 Isabel looked up laughed stammered. 
 
 Something alluring, something childish in her sudden 
 shyness, changed his mood. He bent down quickly. 
 "Come !" he said, "give me a dance ! I feel young to- 
 night!"
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THREE weeks had passed since the night of the dance 
 at Lady Lane. To Isabel, they had been three weeks 
 of ordinary provincial life ; yet in her unconscious 
 psychological development, the span of time might 
 have been three months even three years, for in that 
 brief chain of days she had learned to breathe a new 
 atmosphere, to survey her life from a changed stand- 
 point. The past days, with their favours, their fail- 
 ures their friendship with Carey, blowing now hot, 
 now cold had been as a kaleidoscope in which her 
 excited senses had striven to follow the bewildering pat- 
 terns, weaving and unweaving themselves under her 
 gaze; but these three weeks with their sudden dul- 
 ness, their unanticipated stagnation, their conscious- 
 ness that the interest that had upheld and sustained 
 her had been abruptly withdrawn, were as the merg- 
 ing of the colours into a definite pattern while the 
 mechanism slowly ceased to work. 
 
 In those monotonous hours there had been no deny- 
 ing that it was Carey who had given point to the 
 weeks just passed Carey's antagonism and Carey's 
 interest that had made her little battles and her lit- 
 tle conquests seem worth while; and now that Carey 
 no longer figured as a social quantity, social matters 
 fell strangely flat. Tennis at the Powers' and cro- 
 quet at the Nevilles' became wearisome when there was
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 215 
 
 no longer the consoling thought that if the afternoon 
 proved tedious there was still an evening at Fair Hill 
 or elsewhere at which Stephen might unexpectedly 
 appear ; and realising this, she admitted to herself the 
 change and the reason of the change. 
 
 She admitted it, but made no effort to alter the rou- 
 tine of her life, even shrinking with a new shyness 
 from the possibility of a chance meeting with the ob- 
 ject of her thoughts. Towards one point all her in- 
 terests merged the prospective visit to Kilmeaden. 
 The anticipation of this she hoarded as a miser hoards 
 his gold, bringing it forth from the recesses of her 
 mind in the solitude of her room, dreaming of it, 
 thrilled by the thought of it, living it over in anticipa- 
 tion hour by hour, moment by moment. There she 
 would see Carey day after day, in the close intimacy 
 of daily life, until every characteristic, every trick 
 of voice and manner, would become as familiar as 
 household things ; and in this realm of imagination 
 she moved, spinning the scenes from her brain, weav- 
 ing of them a bridge that spanned the dull monotony 
 that separated her from the day she craved. 
 
 Of those about her, no one marked the change, no 
 one suspected. Had Miss Costello been questioned 
 upon the passage of those three weeks, she would first 
 have repudiated the idea of any alteration in her 
 niece; and then, pressed upon the point, she would 
 have grudgingly admitted that perhaps Isabel had 
 spent more time in her own room, had walked oftener 
 into the country, and had generally made life less
 
 216 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 turbulent since their acquaintances had begun 
 to go out of town and Waterford gaieties had 
 diminished. 
 
 So the circle of the weeks wore round with a little 
 gossip, a little shopping, a little tennis, and a formal 
 visit or two, until the great day dawned. 
 
 Isabel was up at five, to scan the first pearly sky 
 tints that presaged brilliant weather, though if the 
 heavens had opened upon that particular morning 
 it would not have counted one black mark against the 
 day's favour. She came down to breakfast the in- 
 carnation of joy, and never had Miss Costello been 
 allowed to enjoy a meal under circumstances so serene. 
 She talked of the weather, of her journey, of the 
 country; she questioned and re-questioned her aunt 
 upon the subject of Kilmeaden ; she burned to know 
 what the house was like whether the grounds were 
 large if there were stables? Everything interested 
 her, she took everything in good part. 
 
 Then came the last touches to the packing, practi- 
 cally completed days before ; and to participation in 
 this sacred act she invited Miss Costello, laughing 
 and talking incessantly as she folded away the last 
 handkerchief, the last tulle bow. 
 
 Everything was ready a full hour too soon, for it 
 was at eleven that the Skerrybeg carriage was to call 
 at New Town on its way to Kilmeaden, from whence 
 it was to bear Mrs. Power back to Waterford after a 
 week's visit to the Careys. 
 
 Isabel had helped Lizzie to carry the trunk down-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 217 
 
 stairs, and was now sitting on it in the hall, as she 
 drew on her gloves. 
 
 "Well, and when will you be back?" Miss Costello 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't know, Auntie. She said a week." 
 
 "Very well so ! I'll be looking out for you next 
 Monday." 
 
 "Unless I write." 
 
 "Oh, of course, unless you write. If they ask you 
 to stay on, don't refuse. 'Twill be the only outing 
 you'll get this summer, and you're looking a little 
 pale." 
 
 "Pale, Auntie? Am I?" She put her hand appre- 
 hensively to her cheek. 
 
 "Well, not to-day. You have colour enough to-day. 
 I'm thinking of lately ; you looked a little washy 
 lately." 
 
 "Washy? How horrible!" She jumped up and 
 walked out into the garden. The small grass plot 
 was beginning to turn yellow in the summer heat, and 
 in the long bed where the russet wall-flowers had once 
 raised sturdy heads the earth was brown and parched, 
 and the blue of the lobelias and the red of the ge- 
 raniums were marred by city dust. 
 
 "You ought to water the poor flowers, Auntie." 
 
 "I ought," said Miss Costello helplessly. 
 
 "But will you?" 
 
 "I will. I'll get Lizzie to do it when she's washed 
 up after tea this evening." 
 
 Isabel shook her head ; then she looked up at the hot
 
 218 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 white sky. "How heavenly the country will be ! Is 
 it eleven yet?" 
 
 "Just." 
 
 "Then the car will be here in a minute. Oh, Auntie, 
 just imagine!" 
 
 "You're very excited about it." 
 
 Isabel turned away from her aunt's scrutiny, only 
 to see Lizzie peering at her from behind the curtain 
 of the parlour window, and at the same moment the 
 Powers' fat bay horse came ambling up the hill, and 
 the roomy brougham drew up, entirely dwarfing the 
 little gate. 
 
 At the visible symbol of social rank, Isabel gave a 
 gasp. "Oh, Auntie, if we only had a man to bring 
 out the trunk. Lizzie looks so fearful!" 
 
 "Sure, I'll ask the coachman." Miss Costello 
 stepped forward across the garden. 
 
 "Auntie! Don't! Oh, don't!" 
 
 "What nonsense, child! Why wouldn't I? Your 
 grandfather kept a footman and a coachman. Good 
 morning !" she added in a louder voice to the lethargic- 
 looking individual on the box-seat of the brougham. 
 "Good morning ! There's a little portmanteau inside 
 in the hall, would you mind coming in for it?" 
 
 Silently, and with obvious reluctance, the fat coach- 
 man fastened up his reins. A long and lazy life in 
 Mrs. Power's service had left him unwieldy both of 
 mind and body, and Isabel held her breath as she 
 saw him descend laboriously from his seat. 
 
 "We'd better call Lizzie, Auntie," she whispered.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 219 
 
 "Not at all, child ! Not at all !" Miss Costello was 
 enjoying the unwonted position of director in any 
 affair. 
 
 "But how. will he ever lift the trunk!" 
 
 "Be quiet, can't you!" Miss Costello ran forward 
 fussily and opened the little gate as the coachman 
 stepped to the ground. "Yes ! Yes ! Up here !" she 
 explained, guiding her unwilling henchman up the 
 strip of garden. "It looks a little big, but it's really 
 no weight at all. I'd think nothing of lifting it my- 
 self, and the girl She faltered as she caught 
 
 Isabel's eye. "One one of the maids brought it 
 downstairs by herself." 
 
 Under this fire of words he advanced, breathing 
 heavily, and paused before Isabel's big black school 
 trunk. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine bit of a portmanteau," he said with sar- 
 casm ; and disdaining further comment, stooped and 
 lifted it ponderously to his shoulders. 
 
 There was a strained moment of uncertainty as he 
 tottered under the weight and swayed down the path ; 
 then Isabel clasped her hands in an agony of appre- 
 hension. "Oh, Auntie, why did you? Why did you? 
 He'll get apoplexy or something; and Mrs. Power 
 thinks more of him than of any of the family. Look, 
 he'll never get it up on the box-seat ! Quick, Auntie ! 
 Quick!" Even as she spoke she saw his great bulk 
 yield under its burden, and, rushing forward, she was 
 barely in time to scramble to the box-seat, seize a 
 strap, and drag the trunk into place.
 
 220 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Having saved the situation, she jumped to the 
 ground again, flushed but triumphant. "I've torn 
 my glove but it's up !" she announced. "Now, I 
 suppose, we're ready !" 
 
 With his dignity too much ruffled to permit of 
 speech, Roger, the coachman, climbed slowly to his 
 seat and untied his reins. 
 
 "Such nonsense!" Miss Costello muttered. "Sure, 
 I could lift it myself!" 
 
 "Well, it's all right now, Auntie, and the great 
 thing is Lizzie wasn't seen. Good-bye!" With sud- 
 den enthusiasm, she threw her arms about her aunt's 
 neck. 
 
 "Good-bye! Get in now." On pretext of opening 
 the door, Miss Costello peered curiously into the re- 
 cesses of the brougham. "It's a nice, roomy car- 
 riage," she said, enjoying the mere use of the word. 
 
 "I wish you were coming, Auntie." 
 
 "Well, sure we can't have everything! Have you 
 your purse safe?" 
 
 "I have ; but, Auntie, are you sure two shillings will 
 be enough to give the parlour-maid?" 
 
 "Too much, if anything." 
 
 "And, Auntie," Isabel lowered her voice fearfully, 
 "do you think he'll expect anything for bringing 
 down the trunk?" 
 
 She nodded towards the broad back looming against 
 the front window. 
 
 "Indeed, then, let him expect! Good-bye, child!" 
 
 "Good-bye, Auntie!"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 221 
 
 The door of the brougham was closed, the signal 
 for departure given, and the fat bay horse started 
 off at a cautious trot. 
 
 As long as the little house was in sight, Isabel leant 
 out of the window, waving to the gaunt figure of Miss 
 Costello ; but, as both house and figure were gradually 
 merged in the suburban picture, she drew back into 
 the cushioned seat and gave herself up to the pleasure 
 of the moment. 
 
 At any time this drive would have been a delight, 
 for all her nature yearned towards the pleasantness 
 of life; but to-day the delight was subtly enhanced, 
 being the mere preface to all that was to come. The 
 road from Waterford to Kilmeaden has no particular 
 beauty : it is a wide, level road, now open to the sweep 
 of the winds, again arched over and shadowed by 
 thick clumps of trees, but the way made little differ- 
 ence, it was all an enchanted pathway leading to 
 the unknown. 
 
 Lover of speed though she was, she felt no im- 
 patience at the ambling trot of the over- fed horse; 
 if anything, she would have prolonged the drive, and 
 regret was mingled with her excitement when at last 
 the handful of houses dignified by the name of Kil- 
 meaden came into view, the carriage turned off into 
 a side road, and she realised that it was a matter of 
 minutes before her destination was reached and her 
 curiosity satisfied for good and all. 
 
 Turning out of the high-road, they made their way 
 down a narrow lane, skirted a stream in which a band
 
 222 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 of ducks were splashing and quacking, and lurched 
 across a small stone bridge; then for a few hundred 
 yards they passed between high hawthorn hedges that 
 enclosed them in a bower of scent and blossom, until 
 these in turn gave place to a low fence that girded a 
 stretch of cornfield, and beyond the waving grain 
 Isabel caught her first glimpse of the Careys' house. 
 
 To know this house, one should know Ireland. Com- 
 panion houses to it are to be found by the dozen in 
 every one of the counties, though the date of their 
 building and the style of their architecture are alike 
 impossible to place. The similiarity lies in the white- 
 washed exterior, in the solitariness of position, in the 
 air of homely dilapidation so racy of the soil. There 
 is something sad, perhaps, to alien eyes, in these neg- 
 lected, isolated dwellings ; but to one who has ever 
 called such a place home, there is a thrill in the white 
 walls looming out of the neutral-tinted landscape, a 
 memory in the very cracks and blisters on the painted 
 door, in the very rattle of the sashes in the high win- 
 dow frames. 
 
 A five-barred iron gate gave access to the avenue, 
 which was more a narrow roadway than a drive and 
 ran in a straight line across the green and marshy 
 fields to the doorway of the house. In winter these 
 fields were wont to degenerate into bogland, but now 
 in the heat of summer they were a shimmering car- 
 pet, golden with buttercups, on which a dozen cows 
 browsed peacefully. As a vague background to the 
 picture, Isabel acknowledged this haze of gold; but
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 223 
 
 her glance, her burning interest, centred on the house 
 itself the white house, with its shabby door stand- 
 ing ajar, its many windows looking out like kindly 
 eyes over the calm green country. 
 
 A thrill of pleasure and hope passed through her, 
 and she rose from her seat almost before the carriage 
 stopped. 
 
 At the same moment, seemingly from nowhere, Daisy 
 appeared at the open door, looking healthy and sun- 
 burned, and suggestive of country life. 
 
 "Ah, there you are, Isabel! I was in the garden 
 with Mrs. Power, picking strawberries, when I heard 
 the carriage. How are you ? Let me help you out ! 
 Julia !" she turned, calling back into the house, "get 
 some one to carry up Miss Costello's trunk !" 
 
 Then again she turned back to Isabel. "Will you 
 come into the garden first," she asked, "and see Mrs. 
 Power? We're all by ourselves: Father James is 
 reading his office somewhere, and Mary went up to 
 town this morning to do some shopping. Roger, you 
 can take the horse round to the stable. Mrs. Power 
 won't be going till two." 
 
 "Very well, ma'am," said Roger, still upon his dig- 
 nity ; "an', indade, 'tis a rest the poor baste '11 want !" 
 
 Still chatting and inconsequent, Daisy led her visitor 
 through the square, airy hall, whose only furniture 
 was a stand crowded with straw hats of every age and 
 shape, and a large deal table on which were ranged a 
 row of cleanly red flower-pots filled with musk. 
 
 From the hall they passed into the drawing-room,
 
 224 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and here again was the sense of air and space. The 
 room was high; a flood of light poured into it from 
 two long windows that looked upon the fields, and a 
 mellow greenness flooded in from the garden through 
 a glass door at the farther end. There were some 
 good old pieces of furniture here, relics of the former 
 owner, and a feeling of homeliness and use pervaded 
 the place: there were flowers in the vases, an open 
 work-basket stood on the centre table, a novel of 
 Tolstoy's lay on the top of the piano. 
 
 But these things came subconsciously to Isabel, for 
 Daisy hurried forward, giving no time for close ob- 
 servation, and presently the two had passed through 
 the glass door, and were walking down the old garden 
 path overgrown by moss and weeds. The garden it- 
 self accorded with the house, it was an acre of ground 
 run wild with vegetation ; gnarled apple-trees ranged 
 side by side with black-branched pear-trees and im- 
 mense, luxuriant gooseberry bushes, while about their 
 roots a riotous undergrowth of rhubarb, strawberries, 
 lavender, and thyme flourished untended and un- 
 checked. It was a bewildering tangle of greenness, 
 scent, and country freshness, and Isabel paused, en- 
 chanted. 
 
 "I don't wonder you come here !" she said. "I love 
 this place." 
 
 Daisy looked gratified. "Oh, I don't know ! 'Tisn't 
 a bad old house, but the garden is a terrible wilder- 
 ness. I'm always at Stephen to get it put into some 
 sort of order, for I'm really ashamed when people
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 225 
 
 like Mrs. Power and Mrs. Burke, who have such lovely 
 gardens of their own, come out here. But he's so 
 queer ; he likes it as it is." 
 
 "Indeed I agree with him. I'd a thousand times 
 rather have it than Skerrybeg or Fair Hill." 
 
 "Would you, really? I wouldn't. But here's Mrs. 
 Power !" 
 
 Mrs. Power, in an old black cashmere dress, with 
 an alarmingly unbecoming garden-hat tied under her 
 chin, emerged from a side path: her skirt was tucked 
 up under one arm, and she was carrying a cabbage- 
 leaf full of strawberries. 
 
 "And so here's the visitor !" she cried. "How are 
 you, Isabel, dear? Did Roger bring you down 
 safely? And what's the news in Waterford?" 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she kissed Isabel 
 warmly, and broke into another flow of words. 
 
 "Let me look at you, now! Indeed you have quite 
 a colour after your drive down. I suppose they're 
 roasted to death up in town with all this dry weather? 
 Josephine tells me that the lawn at home is more 
 like tow than grass, for the want of a drop of 
 rain." 
 
 "Indeed, yes," agreed Isabel. "Every place is 
 parched with the heat and the dust." 
 
 "We're near a change, though!" Daisy looked up 
 at the sky, where some copper-coloured clouds were 
 gathering in the west. 
 
 "Well, indeed, please God, we are! The country 
 will be destroyed if this goes on much longer.
 
 226 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Though, to be sure, the heat is good for the straw- 
 berries. Have one, Isabel?" 
 
 Isabel was about to comply, but Daisy put her hand 
 over the cabbage-leaf. 
 
 "Ah, no, Mrs. Power ! You'll spoil her appetite for 
 lunch, and we have a nice roast chicken. Would you 
 like to go up to your room, Isabel, before the bell 
 rings ?" 
 
 "Of course she would !" Mrs. Power broke in. "I'll 
 take her up; I have to wash my own hands before 
 lunch." 
 
 "All right, Mrs. Power! The back-room over the 
 drawing-room. That'll be your window, Isabel !" She 
 indicated one of the windows overlooking the garden. 
 
 "How lovely! I'll adore the view!" Isabel smiled 
 in involuntary pleasure, and, with a still further lift- 
 ing of the heart, followed Mrs. Power through the 
 drawing-room and hall, and up the wide, clean stair- 
 case, where again she was assailed by the delicious, 
 old-fashioned scent of musk. 
 
 Without ceremony, Mrs. Power opened the bedroom 
 door and walked in. 
 
 "I suppose I may wash my hands here?" 
 
 "Of course, Mrs. Power ! Let me pour out the water 
 for you." With her all-pervading sense of pleasure 
 and anticipation, Isabel hurried forward and filled 
 up the quaint basin with its wonderful design of cas- 
 tles and birds and trees, while Mrs. Power laid down 
 the leaf of strawberries and began to draw off her 
 rings.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 227 
 
 "Thanks, dear ! And I suppose you're delighted to 
 be in the country?" 
 
 "Indeed I am. Indeed, yes." 
 
 "That's right! And now tell me did you see much 
 of them at Skerrybeg while I was away?" 
 
 "I saw Maurice and Eddy and Walter on Saturday, 
 Mrs. Power, and I saw Josephine yesterday." 
 
 Mrs. Power walked to the washstand and buried 
 her hands in the water. "And did you see Owen 
 at all?" she asked in a tone that was carefully 
 diplomatic. 
 
 Isabel looked round quickly, but there was nothing 
 to be read from the ample back in its cashmere dra- 
 peries. "No, Mrs. Power," she said honestly, "I 
 didn't." 
 
 Mrs. Power picked up the soap, and there was the 
 swiftness of relief in the gesture. "Didn't you, now?" 
 she said. "Didn't you, now? Owen is a funny boy, 
 Isabel. I won't be sorry when he takes it into his 
 head to settle down. You know, I used to have great 
 hopes once that he and Mary Norris would take a 
 fancy to one another." 
 
 There was a pause. "And why didn't they ?" Isabel 
 said at last with elaborate indifference. 
 
 Mrs. Power shook the water from her hands and 
 took up the towel. "Well, Isabel," she said, still keep- 
 ing her back turned, "between you and me, I believe 
 they did. But lately a little bird has whispered to me 
 that somebody has come between them. Could you 
 guess at all who the somebody is?"
 
 228 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 To her intense annoyance, Isabel felt her face grow 
 red. "I, Mrs. Power? How could I?" 
 
 Then at last Mrs. Power turned round. "Ah, now, 
 Isabel," she said with a change of tone, "don't be pre- 
 tending! You know very well that you're a good 
 deal a more attractive girl than Mary, and that any 
 man in the world may lose his head over a pretty 
 face !" 
 
 Isabel's flush deepened, deepened painfully. With 
 the quickness of her race, she saw Mrs. Power's in- 
 tentions as plainly as we see the wares through the 
 glass of a shop-window. It was a case of Frank 
 Carey over again, smoothed this time by kindness and 
 placid dislike of a scene, but fundamentally the same. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Power," she cried, "if you think that I 
 want to spoil Owen's chances to come between him 
 and Mary Norris, you make a great, great mistake !" 
 
 Mrs. Power was alarmed. "My dear, my dear, I 
 never said " 
 
 "I know you didn't. But, all the same, I see I un- 
 derstand. Owen has a future before him, and Mary 
 Norris has position and a fortune." 
 
 Horror and pain crossed Mrs. Power's face. "My 
 dear, my dear," she cried in distress, "what are you 
 saying? You don't surely think that I'd have Owen 
 or any son of mine marry for money or position 
 or any such thing as that? It's only that Mary is a 
 nice sensible girl and the Norrises are such old 
 friends, and that Owen bicycled out three evenings 
 since I've been here, and so I half thought "
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 229 
 
 Isabel laughed laughed suddenly and almost rudely 
 "Oh, don't try to explain, Mrs. Power! Please, 
 please don't ! I understand so very well." 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Power hung upon the brink of 
 dire offence; then tact, and the consciousness of a 
 difficult deed accomplished, soothed her hurt pride, 
 and she came forward with her motherly arms ex- 
 tended. 
 
 "Ah, now, Isabel, you're not to take it in bad part ! 
 Don't see offence where there's no offence meant. 
 Girls are thoughtless things, and I just made up my 
 mind this morning to give you a hint of how the land 
 lies. But it's all over now, and I must run and take 
 my hat off." 
 
 With all the old motherly warmth she kissed Isabel's 
 averted cheek and hurried from the room; but, long 
 after the door had closed, Isabel stood where she had 
 left her in the centre of the room, oddly conscious that 
 something had chilled the warmth of the day that, 
 looking truly into the heart of things, she stood alone 
 in this circle of the prosperous and worldly-wise.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 BITTERNESS reigned in Isabel's mind, rebellion surged 
 in her blood, and her cheeks were hot as she brushed 
 her thick black hair and set her dress in order for 
 the coming meal; and justification lay at the bottom 
 of the rebellion, making its goad the keener. She was 
 one of those whom Nature has moulded for life's easy 
 ways. As the child of a rich man, her qualities would 
 have shone as jewels in a fine setting: her exaggerated 
 pride would have passed for dignity, her reckless in- 
 dependence for strength of character, her passionate 
 impulsiveness for feminine charm, and, lapped in se- 
 curity, hedged round by the impregnable barriers of 
 position, her nature would have expanded, softened, 
 matured, until at last she glided into womanhood; 
 but heredity had shaped the mould, and fate had dis- 
 posed of the modelled clay. In the fairy tale, Cin- 
 derella has but to await the Prince, but upon the 
 stage of middle-class Irish life the godmother's wand 
 has lost its cunning, the rags remain merely rags, and 
 the lean mice gnaw the pumpkin. To girls such as 
 Isabel, the future is cruelly stereotyped: a year or 
 two of social success, while the face and personality 
 are new to the limited circle, then the slow decline of 
 that ardent popularity, the imperceptible drawing 
 out of the years, until eighteen merges into twenty- 
 eight, and the girl wakes up with alarm to find that a
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 231 
 
 newer band of pleasure-seekers is pouring back from 
 the convent schools, ousting her from her supremacy. 
 And then? The question is very poignant. In no 
 country in the world does the feminine mind shrink 
 more sensitively from the stigma of old maid than in 
 Ireland, where the woman-worker the woman of 
 broad interests exists only as a rare type. There is, 
 of course, the convent always looming, a large possi- 
 bility in the Catholic mind, and many are the lives 
 that find abiding peace in its placid grey monotony: 
 but it is not the woman of Isabel's stamp who girds 
 herself in the habit of religion ; neither is it the woman 
 of this stamp who can subdue her pride to the petty 
 difficulties, the slow drudgery, that in Ireland spells 
 self-support. Such women either marry or they do 
 not marry ; and in that simple statement is comprised 
 the tragedy of existence. 
 
 Some glimmering of this immense question was 
 shadowing her youth as she twisted up her splendid 
 hair, and the sombre fear of it was darkening her 
 eyes as she slowly descended the clean, bare staircase 
 in answer to the summoning lunch-bell. 
 
 In the hall Daisy was waiting for her. 
 
 "Ah, there you are!" she began at once. "Come 
 into the dining-room ! There's only Father James 
 and Mrs. Power. Ted generally has his dinner at 
 our lunch-time, but he has a cold these last few days 
 and the doctor is keeping him in bed." 
 
 The dining-room, like the rest of the house, was clean 
 and scantily furnished, and to Isabel's eyes it in-
 
 232 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 stantly suggested the refectory of a monastery in 
 its simple severity. The two other guests were al- 
 ready seated when she entered, and an appetising 
 smell was coming from the uncovered dishes of 
 chicken and ham. 
 
 "Ah, there you are, Daisy, dear !" cried Mrs. Power. 
 "Come on at once I'm simply starving. I tried to 
 tempt Father James to begin carving, but he was 
 altogether 'too punctilious." 
 
 Daisy laughed. "What nonsense! He knows I 
 wouldn't mind. Here's Isabel Costello, Father 
 James !" She led Isabel round the table and then took 
 her own place. "And now, who's going to cut up the 
 things?" she added. "Mrs. Power, will you?" 
 
 "Ah, no, Daisy, dear ! You carve beautifully," ob- 
 jected Mrs. Power, who was incorrigibly lazy. 
 
 "Sure, I'll do the two, child!" said Father James. 
 "Bring the dishes down here to me, Julia! And how 
 are you, Miss Isabel ! 'Tis a long time since we met 
 and then it was only once, but I have a good re- 
 membrance of you all the same, and I hope you haven't 
 forgotten me." He took Isabel's hand with all the 
 kindly warmth in which his soul abounded ; and as ice 
 inevitably thaws in strong sunshine, the bitterness in 
 Isabel's heart softened. 
 
 She looked up at him and smiled. 
 
 "No, I haven't forgotten you." 
 
 "That's right, child! That's right! We'll be great 
 friends yet. Now, Daisy, what'll you have ? A bit of 
 the wing?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 233 
 
 And so on, consulting everybody's taste, unceasingly 
 cheerful and kindly, he carved the chicken, supple- 
 menting each portion with a piece of ham that would 
 have fed a ploughman. 
 
 "Well," said Daisy, when the meal was in progress, 
 "so you went to read your office before lunch? I saw 
 you starting off when we were in the garden." 
 
 Father James laughed and then shook his head guilt- 
 ily. "Peccavi ! Peccavi !" he said. "I did start off 
 with my breviary and the best of intentions ; but as 
 luck would have it, I took a look up at the nursery 
 window, and I going down the path : 
 
 Daisy laughed as well. "Oh, Father James, I 
 guess " 
 
 "Indeed, I suppose you do! Faith, they're great 
 young tempters, those sons of yours. Up I went, tell- 
 ing myself 'twould only be for a minute ; but between 
 playing horses and playing bear, I only got off in 
 time to wash my hands !" 
 
 In this manner in homely talk and homely laughter 
 the lunch drew to a close ; and presently the chime 
 of the old gilt clock in the drawing-room floated across 
 the hall, announcing two o'clock. 
 
 Mrs. Power started if so alert a word could be 
 applied to her round and comfortable person. "Good 
 gracious, Daisy, is that two o'clock? And I haven't 
 a bit of my packing done. Come up with me, like an 
 angel, and help me to fold my things !" 
 
 Daisy rose. "And what'll you do, Father James? 
 Make another attempt at your office?"
 
 234. THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Well, no," said Father James, rising slowly. "I'll 
 read it later on, when you're all at tea. Now I think 
 I'll take Miss Costello for a walk, if she has nothing 
 better to do." 
 
 Whether he divined that Isabel might feel neglected 
 when the other two retired it is impossible to say, but 
 his eyes were even more than usually kind as they 
 rested on her face. 
 
 She sprang up in ready response. "Oh, thanks, 
 Father Baron ! I'd love to go with you." 
 
 "That's right! That's right!" he said. "But re- 
 member I'm Father James to everybody in this house. 
 Run on now, like a good child, and get your hat, so 
 we won't be wasting any time. The day is calling 
 out for somebody to come and enjoy it." 
 
 Again Isabel smiled at him. "But I don't want a 
 hat ; I love the sun on my face." 
 
 "Ah, that's right ! I like to hear you say that ! We 
 can't have too much of anything the Almighty gives 
 us. I often go out myself, when 'tis pouring rain, 
 and walk up my bit of a mountain at Scarragh till 
 I'm drenched through and through. Come on now, 
 and I'll show you the path to the wood that they all 
 put so much pass on ! Good-bye for the present, Mrs. 
 Power! I'll see you before you start; and maybe 
 you'd do a little message for me up in town?" 
 
 "Indeed, I will, Father James! A hundred, if you 
 like. Come along, Daisy! You know how impatient 
 Roger is, and I'm sure he has the horse tackled." 
 
 The two women departed, and Isabel and Father
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 235 
 
 James passed out into the hall and through the open 
 door. 
 
 The sun was brilliant, though the copper clouds were 
 still banked in the west, and the fields of buttercups 
 shimmered pure gold. Isabel paused involuntarily to 
 drink in the beauty of the scene. 
 
 "How splendid it is !" she said. "How free it is !" 
 
 A serious look came over the old priest's face. "You 
 may well say that, child !" he said. " 'Tis what I say 
 to myself every day out on the side of my mountain, 
 when I watch every little plant filling its own place, 
 and see every change and season working its own 
 end. Indeed, I'd pity no man that had eyes to see 
 and the country to live in." 
 
 He said it so simply, with such infinite earnestness, 
 that again Isabel felt her heart go out to him in sud- 
 den sympathy. In the same manner by this same 
 selflessness he had won his way with many a sinner 
 in the dim confessional, hearing the old, human tale 
 of temptation and of fall from lips that would have 
 remained closed to pleading or to reason. The man 
 showed himself so naively, that his very confidence 
 drew kindred revelation; and in the silence that fol- 
 lowed, while they walked together over the flower- 
 covered grass, Isabel felt for the first time what it 
 might be to know the intimate love of father and 
 mother; and something of loss of dim, vague long- 
 ing surged up within her. 
 
 As though he divined her thought, his next words 
 were intimate and personal.
 
 236 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Well, child," he said gently, as they neared the 
 fir wood that bordered the fields, "and what sort of a 
 place do you find the world?" 
 
 Isabel started. "The world?" she said quickly. "I 
 I don't quite know." 
 
 He smiled, a wise, indulgent smile. "You haven't 
 made up your mind yet? Well, you're young. You're 
 young." 
 
 "How made up my mind?" 
 
 "Well, about your future about what you'll be do- 
 ing with yourself. You'll have to be making up your 
 mind about it some day, you know. None of us are 
 let off that penalty." 
 
 She glanced up quickly, almost fearfully. "My 
 future? How do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, I mean that you'll have to be choosing your 
 state in life. You'll have to be getting married or 
 going into a convent one of these fine days I won't 
 say the word 'old maid.' ' 
 
 Isabel laughed, but her laugh was tremulous. "I 
 could never be a nun." 
 
 "And I'm not so sure that I'd be asking you, child. 
 'Tis a grand life, no doubt a grand calling, but, 
 after all, a wife is a grander calling still. Look at 
 Daisy, now!" He paused to let the words sink in, 
 and Isabel kept silent, her eyes fixed upon the fir- 
 trees. 
 
 "Look at Daisy, now!" he said again. "She's not 
 a clever girl ; she's not a remarkable girl ; she'd make 
 only a very ordinary sort of a nun but she's a good
 
 237 
 
 mother to those three boys of hers ; and in time to 
 come there'll be three men at least that'll think her 
 the finest woman in the world. Now, if that isn't 
 something, I don't know what to say." 
 
 Isabel flushed. "I'd hate to be like Daisy !" 
 
 The old priest showed no perturbation at the 
 violence of the tone. "You needn't trouble yourself 
 about that," he said gently, "because you couldn't be, 
 even if you tried. We're all as God made us." 
 
 "For one thing, I'll never marry a Waterford man !" 
 
 "And why is that?" 
 
 "Because I know too well what they're like." 
 
 "And what's that, child?" 
 
 "Oh, dull and narrow-minded and stupid." 
 
 They were close to the fir wood now, and Father 
 James paused and looked at her with new seriousness. 
 "Isabel, child," he said, "you must never say a thing 
 like that. There are men as good and as fine and as 
 clever, too, in these towns of ours as ever you'd find 
 in the big cities. Maybe they don't show up like 
 the other people, but take my word for it, they're 
 there. Look at Stephen Carey, for instance!" 
 
 He may have said it innocently, he may have said 
 it with meaning ; but whatever his intention, the result 
 was instant and definite. The blood mounted to Isa- 
 bel's face, words flew to her lips. 
 
 "Oh, but Mr. Carey! How can you compare Mr. 
 Carey to the others? If he had never settled down 
 in Ireland if only he was in England or America, 
 what a great man he might have been !"
 
 238 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Surprise crossed the old priest's eyes. He had 
 scarcely expected such an outburst as this; it was 
 deeper water than he had looked to plumb. But he 
 continued to walk on, encouraging her by his calm. 
 
 "And so you think Stephen might be a great man ?" 
 
 "Indeed, yes. Indeed, I do." 
 
 "And I'm not so sure, child, that I don't agree with 
 you. Stephen has the stuff in him." 
 
 Isabel threw up her head with one of her swift im- 
 pulses, and her steps quickened to her quickening 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 "Yes ; he could rise to anything, if he had the chance." 
 
 Father James did not reply at once, but with a very 
 thoughtful gesture he rubbed his shaven chin. 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes, child!" he said at last. "Maybe 
 you're right ! Most likely you're right ! But I have 
 queer notions myself about things like that. I'm an 
 old man now, and within measuring distance of the 
 grave, and do you know what my life has taught me?" 
 
 She glanced at him in quick interrogation. 
 
 "It has taught me this, child, that it's a false thing 
 ever to be saying that if this man had his chance 
 and if that man had his chance, they'd have done this 
 thing and done that thing, for 'tis a bigger mind 
 than yours or mine that put them where they are 
 and they're working out bigger things than you or I 
 could ever put our tongue to." They had reached 
 the end of the path, and instead of climbing the stile 
 that led into the wood, Father James seated himself 
 on the lowest step, and with great deliberation stooped
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 239 
 
 down and drew into light a tiny fern growing in the 
 interstices of the stone. 
 
 "Look here, Isabel!" he said. "The Almighty set 
 this fern between these stones, and if He thought 
 'twould thrive better between the pavkig-stones of 
 a street, do you think He'd be waiting for you or me 
 to tell Him He ought to have put it there?" 
 
 Isabel turned her flushed face to the sun. "Oh, 
 but that's exaggerated. I don't think God ever meant 
 us to be satisfied with things as they are. If we all sat 
 down and did nothing, how would the world move on?" 
 
 Again Father James rubbed his chin. Then he 
 smiled, his shrewd, kind, lenient smile. 
 
 "Child," he said, "did you ever hear of a man called 
 JEsop?" 
 
 "I have heard of ^Esop's Fables," she said, a little 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Well, then, did you ever hear the story about the 
 fly on the wheel?" 
 
 "No, I did not." 
 
 "Very well, then, I'll tell it to you." And settling 
 himself in his seat, he began the homely story as he 
 might a fairy tale to a little child. 
 
 "Well, now, to begin at the beginning, there was a 
 fly one fine day long ago sat himself down on the 
 axle of a chariot-wheel ; and after a while he took it 
 into his head that the chariot wasn't going fast 
 enough, so what does he do but speak to the mule 
 that was drawing it. 'How slow you are, my fine 
 mule!' says he. 'Take care that you won't find me
 
 240 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 giving you a sting to hurry you on !' But, faith, the 
 mule knew too much for him ! ' 'Tis very little I care 
 for your sting,' says he ; 'I only care about him that 
 sits above you, and that hurries me on with the whip 
 or keeps me back with the reins. So bother me no more 
 for I go fast or go slow without your ordering.' ' 
 
 When he had finished, Isabel made another move- 
 ment of quick impatience. "What a silly story," she 
 said. "I don't see the point at all." 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "I don't." 
 
 "Don't you see that life is the chariot and that we 
 are the flies all of us, the clever ones like Stephen, 
 and the stupid ones like me and that the chariot is 
 driven by some great big power that knows what we 
 don't know. I agree with you, child, that Stephen is 
 a fine man, and I'm telling you the plain truth when 
 I say that I'd give my life's blood to save him from 
 harm. But, by the grace of God, he can be as fine a 
 man in Waterford as ever he could be in London or 
 New York and I'd be sorry to believe otherwise." 
 
 A curious, defiant look passed over Isabel's face. 
 
 "I don't think that. I'll never think it !" 
 
 Very slowly Father James got to his feet. "Very 
 well, child, have it your own way !" he said. "But 
 life is long, and we change our opinions many a time 
 before we travel the whole road. There's the carriage 
 coming round from the yard, and we must say good- 
 bye to Mrs. Power ; but take my advice and don't for- 
 get about the fly on the wheel."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 FOR the rest of that day Father James was a more 
 or less silent observer of the house and its inmates: 
 with his native shrewdness he watched Mrs. Power's 
 effusive farewell to Isabel, and read in her smiles and 
 nods and whisperings with Daisy the maternal convic- 
 tion that at last the most wayward of her flock was 
 to be safely shepherded into the fold of respectabil- 
 ity ; then with his well-thumbed breviary under his 
 arm, and his shabby clerical hat shading the sun from 
 his eyes, he betook himself to the garden, and as he 
 walked up and down under the apple-trees, muttering 
 his office with the simple earnestness he brought to 
 every duty, a subconscious portion of his mind was 
 strained to catch the sound of voices from the 
 drawing-room, where Daisy sat entertaining her 
 guest. 
 
 He was not an inquisitive man, but he admitted to 
 himself in the pauses of his devotions that he would 
 have given a good deal to overhear that conversation, 
 the gist and manner of that entertainment ; and when 
 across the still, hot air of the garden he caught the 
 rattle of an opening door and the light tinkle of tea- 
 cups, his interest sprang up, and he was ready with 
 eyes and ears alert when Daisy appeared with sus- 
 picious alacrity at the French window. 
 
 "Father James!" she called. "Father James, isn't
 
 242 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 your office finished yet? Tea is in, and you simply 
 must have a cup." 
 
 A little smile crossed Father James's eyes, but his 
 lips were serious as he closed his book obediently, 
 blessed himself, and came slowly down the mossy path. 
 
 "Faith, 'tis fashionable you'll be making me, with 
 your afternoon tea, Daisy !" he said pleasantly, as 
 he stepped through the long window. "When I get 
 back to Scarragh, I'll be ordering Bridget to call my 
 two o'clock dinner lunch, if I'm not careful. Isn't 
 that the way, Miss Isabel?" 
 
 Isabel was half -sitting, half -lying in a wicker-chair 
 that had been converted into a piece of drawing-room 
 furniture by the aid of muslin cushions. At the 
 priest's words she roused herself; and as she turned 
 towards him, he was struck afresh by her personality 
 the conflicting tenseness and languor of her pose, 
 the smouldering expectancy in her eyes, the curve and 
 colour of her mouth ; and with a touch of instinct he 
 divined where her thoughts had been during the dull 
 hour with Daisy. 
 
 "I wish I could order our servant, Lizzie, to call 
 our dinner lunch," she said smilingly. "I love late 
 dinner and afternoon tea and all nice things." 
 
 Daisy's refinement was slightly outraged by this 
 bluntness, and she paused in her ministrations at the 
 tea-table. 
 
 "I don't know how anybody can bother about meals," 
 she said. "I think having to eat at all is a great 
 nuisance. I could never care about it myself."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 243 
 
 "Oh, I adore eating eating things that are nice!" 
 
 "Do you? Wasn't it Lord Byron who could never 
 bear to see a woman eat?" 
 
 Isabel laughed. " 'Twas well he never met me ! Do 
 you think it really matters, Father James, if nice 
 things make you feel fearfully greedy feel that you 
 must have them ?" 
 
 Father James looked out of the window. "I sup- 
 pose we ought to curb our appetites, child," he said, 
 but his tone was awkward, for preaching out of his 
 church was a thing he abhorred. 
 
 "Oh, why?" Isabel cried interestedly. "Why, when 
 life is so horribly short?" 
 
 "Don't, Isabel !" Daisy broke in nervously. "I hate 
 to hear people talking like that. I suppose we all 
 must die some time, but what's the good of thinking 
 of it?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" Isabel threw herself back in 
 her chair and turned her face to the sun. "I don't 
 care what happens to me when I'm old; I only want 
 to live every second of the time while I am young." 
 
 But Father James, who was still standing by the 
 window, put up his hand. "Listen !" he said. "Isn't 
 that Stephen's motor?" 
 
 "The motor-car !" In a flash Isabel's body was gal- 
 vanised into life: she sprang up and ran across the 
 room. 
 
 Daisy looked round, a little contemptuous of her 
 excitement. "Yes, that's the car," she said placidly. 
 "We're quite used to it by now, only I wish Stephen
 
 244 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 wouldn't sound the horn at the gate; it wakes baby, 
 and then he's so hard to manage." She laid aside 
 the tea-caddy and the silver teaspoon and slowly fol- 
 lowed Isabel across the room. 
 
 "Won't you come out and meet them?" she added, 
 looking from one to the other of her guests. 
 
 Father James obeyed the invitation, following her 
 into the hall ; but for some unexplained reason Isabel 
 hung back at the drawing-room door, and from her 
 solitary position listened with a beating heart to the 
 stopping of the car and the confused greetings of 
 Daisy, Father James, Mary, and Tom Norris. 
 
 Meanwhile the old priest, with senses alert, was look- 
 ing for one set of circumstances Carey's attitude, 
 Carey's first words. He alone of the little group 
 marked his expression as he stretched his long limbs 
 after the tension of the drive ; he alone heard his first 
 words. 
 
 "Isn't Miss Costello here?" 
 
 It had come then, Father James told himself the 
 moment he had waited for and dreaded, almost as a 
 mother dreads her son's first lapse from virtue ! His 
 heart contracted, then expanded again in sudden, 
 ineffable love and compassion. Stephen, the boy he 
 had instructed for the sacraments, the man he had 
 married, never needed friendship as he needed it now 
 in this hour of coming storm! He went forward as 
 Carey entered the house, and took his hand in a warm 
 pressure. 
 
 "Well, boy !" he said affectionately. "Daisy and
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 245 
 
 Miss Costello and myself are waiting for our tea till 
 you'd come." 
 
 Carey's hand tightened on his. 
 
 "So Miss Costello is here?" 
 
 "Yes ; in the drawing-room over." 
 
 Father James stood aside to let him pass, and his 
 glance was keen as a knife as he slowly followed 
 and saw the meeting of the two. 
 
 The sun was enveloping Isabel in a mantle of gold 
 as she came forward to offer her tardy greeting ; and 
 to Carey's eager gaze, stray shafts of it seemed to 
 lurk in her hazel eyes, lighting them to strange new 
 fire. His nature leaped in consciousness of her 
 beauty, as he took her warm hand. 
 
 "What ages 'tis since I have seen you ! And how 
 well you look !" 
 
 "Ages !" she repeated unthinkingly, and let her 
 fingers lie in his, while her lips, her eyes, her whole 
 radiant face, gave unconscious point to the word. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you !" he said. "Very glad !" 
 
 Then their hands fell apart as Father James, hear- 
 ing Mary's sharp voice in the hall, came gently up 
 to them. 
 
 "Well, Miss Isabel, and what about our tea?" 
 
 Isabel laughed a low laugh of absolute delight. 
 
 "Father James ! Father James, you must curb your 
 appetite! Father James has been lecturing me on 
 my greediness." Her eyes again sought Carey's, un- 
 able to repress the excitement welling in them. 
 
 "What! Lecturing you? Why, that's trespassing
 
 246 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 on my preserves! I don't allow any one to lecture 
 Miss Costello but myself, Father James. She's had 
 many a bad half -hour with me!" 
 
 Isabel laughed again. Life was a glorious thing! 
 A tempting, radiant, dancing thing, all glitter of 
 sun and sheen of flowers! What if Daisy were dull 
 and Mary bitter, and all the world of women heartless 
 and scheming! Carey had come Carey's eyes had 
 lighted at sight of her Carey's hand had held hers 
 in a long, close pressure! 
 
 She turned, her whole being joyous and alive, as 
 Tom Norris came into the drawing-room, while Daisy 
 and Mary waited to whisper together in the hall. 
 
 Tom's face expressed involuntary admiration. 
 "Hallo, Miss Isabel! There you are! And, 'pon 
 my word, it does me good to look at you! How on 
 earth do you manage to keep that colour, when all 
 Waterf ord is as washed out as a corpse from the heat 
 and dust? 5 Tis wonderful! 'Tis indeed!" He took 
 her hand cordially, then turned to greet Father 
 James. "And is that you, Father James ! 'Tis a 
 cure for sore eyes to see you ! I thought you had de- 
 serted us altogether. But, do you know what ! I be- 
 lieve there's work for you brewing outside there." 
 He nodded jocosely over his shoulder to the hall, from 
 whence little gasps and laughs and whisperings came 
 in the voices of the sisters. 
 
 "What is it you mean, Tom?" 
 
 Tom laughed. "Ah, don't be curious ! You'll know 
 all in good time. I have only my suspicions as yet."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 247 
 
 "What's that, Tom?" said Carey. 
 
 "Have patience ! Have patience, I tell you ! All in 
 good time! All in good time!" And Tom laughed 
 again in the pleased, mysterious way of one who could 
 say much, did he care to speak. 
 
 Carey turned away uninterestedly. "Have it your 
 own way !" he said. "Miss Costello, how do you like 
 my garden? Come and have a look at it now, with 
 the sun on the apple-trees." He walked to the French 
 window, and Isabel followed him eagerly. 
 
 As they disappeared, Daisy and Mary entered from 
 the hall. They were both flushed, and Mary held her- 
 self even more independently than usual. Daisy 
 looked round the room, and seeing that only the priest 
 and her brother were present, she ran forward to 
 Father James. 
 
 "Father James," she cried breathlessly. "Father 
 James, do you know what! I have such a secret 
 such news. Mary and Owen are engaged! Oh, how 
 delighted Mrs. Power will be!" 
 
 Father James beamed all over his kindly rugged 
 face. Whatever faults Mary Norris might have, she 
 was one of his many children. It was inevitable that 
 he should rejoice in her happiness. 
 
 "Do you tell me so, child?" he said. "Do you tell 
 me so? Well, all I can say is Master Owen is get- 
 ting a good wife ! God bless you, Mary, child ! God 
 bless you ! Does Stephen know, Daisy ?" 
 
 Daisy looked round, still smiling in her pride and 
 gratification. "Stephen? No!" Then a look of sur-
 
 248 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 prise crossed her smile. "But where is Stephen? I 
 thought he was here." 
 
 Father James said nothing ; but Tom answered read- 
 ily and unsuspiciously. 
 
 "Stephen ! Oh, Stephen has gone to show Isabel 
 the sun on his apple-trees." 
 
 "The sun on the apple-trees?" repeated Daisy, 
 laughing. "How ridiculous ! What it is to have a 
 hobby !" 
 
 "What it is to have an imagination !" said Mary 
 
 with a dry little laugh. 
 
 # * # # # 
 
 Dinner that night was quite a gay affair. The an- 
 nouncement of Mary's engagement gave an excuse 
 for festivity, and Daisy felt pleased and flattered that 
 even Stephen the self-contained, sarcastic Stephen 
 should give himself up to the moment. Talk never 
 flagged from the soup to the dessert, when Mary's 
 health was drunk in port specially decanted for the 
 occasion. There was something peculiar, something 
 electric in the atmosphere. Mary was keenly con- 
 scious of it ; Tom and Daisy felt it vaguely ; Stephen 
 and Isabel, sitting side by side, secretly burned to 
 the knowledge of it ; while Father James, unusually 
 silent in the midst of the festivity, saw and under- 
 stood it with a curious sinking of the heart. 
 
 At last the meal was over; and, contrary to his 
 usual habit, Stephen followed the party into the hall. 
 
 "This is an occasion, Daisy," he said. "I think I 
 ought to go into the drawing-room with you."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 249 
 
 Daisy looked gratified. "Do ! Oh, do !" she said. 
 
 Mary turned and shot a quick glance at them, but 
 she said nothing. To-morrow she would be her old 
 self again, speeding her barbed shafts, dealing her 
 swift thrusts, but to-night this night of unalloyed 
 triumph she had no time to waste upon Stephen. 
 So without comment she suffered the party to cross 
 the hall. 
 
 In the drawing-room they formed into a group. 
 
 "And now, what'll we do?" questioned Daisy, hos- 
 pitably concerned for the amusement of her guests. 
 "What about bridge? You play, Isabel?" 
 
 Isabel drew back diffidently. "Oh, please no! I'm 
 no good at cards." 
 
 "Well, you will, Polly ! And Tom that's two ! And 
 Stephen and Father James that's a four!" 
 
 A quick look of annoyance, followed by a quick look 
 of determination, passed over Carey's face. "Don't 
 mind me, Daisy ! I won't play. You take my 
 place." 
 
 "Oh, but why? You always play." 
 
 "I am tired to-night." 
 
 Daisy looked incredulous, for Stephen's very atti- 
 tude belied the idea of weariness. 
 
 "You're giving it up because you think I want to 
 play. Please don't, Stephen." 
 
 "No, I'm not. Don't make a fuss about it." Carey 
 turned away, selfish as every man and woman are 
 selfish when mind and body are centred upon one ob- 
 ject, to the exclusion of all others.
 
 250 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Daisy laughed her silly, light little laugh. "Oh, 
 very well ! Have it your own way !" 
 
 But Father James stepped forward, breaking the 
 silence he had hitherto preserved. "Stephen," he said, 
 "listen here! We'll have a game of forty-five, and 
 not mind the bridge to-night; then we can all be 
 playing. Do, for the sake of old times !" 
 
 Distinctly, unmistakably, Carey hesitated ; then some 
 thought of his own or something in the old priest's 
 face made his decision for him. 
 
 "All right! Very well!" he said brusquely. 
 
 And until the clock chimed twelve, and exhaustion 
 was written on more than one face, Father James kept 
 the game alive, stifling his own yawns, spurring the 
 lagging players, clinging to his position as a soldier 
 defends his flag.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THAT night the threatened rain came, breaking in a 
 torrent a deluge such as Irish skies can so readily 
 produce. All through the night it poured upon the 
 roof, relentless, unsparing; and in the morning Isa- 
 bel, looking from her window, saw a garden green 
 with moisture, paths that were no longer paths but 
 streams, and a sky that hung grey and low over the 
 earth, seeming to pour forth its very heart in a flood 
 of tears. 
 
 At breakfast the one topic of conversation was the 
 weather its effect upon the crops, its probable con- 
 tinuance, its possible abatement ; for now that the 
 longed-for change had come, everybody was clamour- 
 ing for the dry warmth of the past weeks. At half- 
 past nine Carey's motor-car came round to the door; 
 and in a swish and swirl of mud, Isabel saw him drive 
 away with Tom Norris, while her heart beat to his 
 last smile and to his last words, called back through 
 the storm of rain "I'll be back as early as I can. 
 Mind you wait tea for me !" 
 
 Then there had begun for her that thing of weari- 
 ness a hopelessly wet day in somebody else's country 
 house. After breakfast, Daisy had departed to the 
 kitchen to consult with the cook; Mary, with an air 
 of importance, had announced that she had letters to 
 write ; while Father James, taxing his imagination to
 
 252 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the uttermost, had volunteered to teach her bezique. 
 Bezique, therefore, they had played until lunch-time, 
 when they had both laid down the cards with secret 
 relief. At lunch the spirits of the whole party ob- 
 viously flagged, and subjects of interest ran low, the 
 talk for the most part dwelling upon Ted's cold and 
 the fact that the doctor had prescribed another day 
 in bed. After the meal, Daisy's duties being done 
 and Mary's letters written, the three girls were con- 
 strained to leave Father James to his office and retire 
 to the drawing-room, to wear away the afternoon as 
 best they could, until five o'clock brought tea and the 
 return of the men. 
 
 In the drawing-room all the windows were shut to 
 keep out the rain, and a smell of must seemed to em- 
 anate from the furniture, drawn forth by the close 
 dampness of the air. The whole room wore a melan- 
 choly suggestion of autumn, impossible to reconcile 
 with yesterday's summer sunshine ; and as they entered 
 it, Isabel looked longingly towards the empty 
 grate. 
 
 Daisy followed the glance. "We almost might have 
 afire!" 
 
 But Mary looked stern and instant disapproval. "A 
 fire? Nonsense! We'd be suffocated. I wish I had 
 stopped in town last night. The country is sicken- 
 ing on a wet day !" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know ! If we hadn't a wet day now and 
 then I'd never get my mending done. I may as well 
 go and get my work-basket now !"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 253 
 
 Daisy departed, virtuously and unimaginatively 
 content; and Isabel dropped into the long wicker- 
 chair with an air of lazy indolence. Whether this 
 action had in its essence something irritating to Mary, 
 or whether the wet, disappointing day had worked 
 upon her nerves, it is impossible to say, but she walked 
 to the piano with an obvious air of annoyance and 
 picked up her Tolstoi, lying where she had left it the 
 day before. She opened the book, glanced at the 
 pages, then threw it aside and seated herself on the 
 edge of the piano stool. 
 
 For a minute or two she played disconnectedly, then 
 she shot a swift glance at Isabel from under her eye- 
 lashes. 
 
 "By the way, Isabel, why is it you haven't congrat- 
 ulated me? Everybody else has." 
 
 Isabel turned, her colour slightly heightened. "Oh, 
 I don't know! I thought 'twas the man that was al- 
 ways congratulated." 
 
 Mary reddened in her own turn, and played a chord 
 or two. "I never knew you were an authority on 
 etiquette !" 
 
 "I'm not. I only thought " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know !" With a sense of being baited, 
 Isabel turned away and looked through the glass 
 door at the dripping garden. 
 
 At the action Mary let her hands drop from the 
 keys, and wheeled round on the piano stool. 
 
 "Isabel," she said suddenly, "I'd like very much to
 
 254 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 know what you really think about Owen and me be- 
 ing engaged." 
 
 With the instinct of facing an antagonist, Isabel 
 withdrew her eyes from the garden and met Mary's 
 interrogative glance. 
 
 "I don't think at all," she said. "Why should I 
 think?" 
 
 "Because you're not quite an imbecile. You must 
 think something." 
 
 "Well, and if I do?" 
 
 "Then why won't you tell me what it is?" 
 
 Isabel's temper, always quick, rose hotly at the per- 
 sistence. 
 
 "Perhaps if I did tell you, it mightn't please you." 
 
 "Then it's something nasty?" 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 This time it was Mary's temper that was stung. She 
 shut the piano sharply, and walked across the room 
 to Isabel's chair. 
 
 "Look here, Isabel," she said, "I've had enough of 
 this. Kindly explain exactly what you mean !" 
 
 Isabel looked up at her, and all the old dislike was 
 patent in the glance that they exchanged. "Very 
 well!" she said recklessly. "I'll tell you if you like. 
 It's just this. I didn't congratulate you, because 
 I don't think you are to be congratulated. I don't 
 envy any one who is going to marry Owen Power." 
 
 Whatever Mary had expected, she had not expected 
 this ; and in her amazed anger, she stammered 
 
 "I'd I'd like to know exactly what that means." 
 
 "Nothing. Just what I say."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 255 
 
 She laughed loudly and sarcastically. 
 
 "Not a very convincing statement, I'm afraid! 
 Have you nothing to add to it?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 For a moment they continued to look at each other, 
 and in Mary's hard glance and tightened lips there 
 was all the prejudice, the impregnable bigotry that 
 in time to come would hedge round her husband and 
 her children. 
 
 "Then I'm afraid it doesn't injure Owen very 
 much," she said; "and if you take my advice, Isabel, 
 you'll be careful for your own sake how you air your 
 sentiments. It wouldn't be wise to make an enemy 
 of him, after that night in the Lover's Walk !" She 
 laughed again, her spiteful, cutting laugh; and be- 
 fore Isabel could retaliate before she could extricate 
 the barbed shaft lying in the words turned on her 
 heel and marched out of the room with stiff shoulders 
 and head held virtuously high. 
 
 All through the succeeding period of solitude and 
 the subsequent hour of Daisy's chatter, Isabel puzzled 
 over the thrust, trying vainly to find its meaning, 
 striving to understand whether it veiled a threat ; then 
 tea and the arrival of Carey and Tom Norris ban- 
 ished it from her mind, and when she retired to her 
 room to dress for dinner her interest, her excitement, 
 and her sense of indefinite anticipation were surging 
 through her again, hot and exhilarating as before. 
 
 Carey was alone in the drawing-room when she came
 
 256 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 downstairs, but at their first words Father James ap- 
 peared, his breviary under his arm. 
 
 "Well ! well ! well !" he said cheerfully. "And do you 
 know that the rain is nearly stopped?" 
 
 "Nearly stopped, is it?" said Carey, not very in- 
 terestedly. 
 
 "Nearly stopped, indeed ! Praise be to God ! Maybe 
 we'll have a fine day to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, goodness, I hope so!" said Isabel fervently. 
 "To-day was terrible." 
 
 Carey looked at her and smiled. "Was it very dull?" 
 
 She shook her head, but her eyes sparkled. "I sup- 
 pose 'twas better than being out in the wet." 
 
 "Better! Good Lord, no! The rain was splendid; 
 the rain was magnificent. There's a feeling about 
 scudding along in the car over wet roads that has no 
 equal. Any fool can go out in fine weather. I wish 
 I could show you what I mean!" His eyes turned 
 involuntarily towards the windows, beyond which the 
 grey sky was showing rifts of watery light. 
 
 As he looked, Tom Norris strolled in from the hall. 
 "It's going to clear up, after all!" he announced. 
 "Where are the girls ? It's ten past seven." He com- 
 pared his watch with the gilt clock on the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 At that moment Daisy hurried in, full of apologies. 
 "I'm awfully sorry to be late! Let's go to dinner 
 now ; Polly will be in in a minute." 
 
 "In? Is she out?" asked Tom. 
 
 "Yes. She said she should get a breath of air, if
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 257 
 
 she was to catch her death from it. She was awfully 
 cross after lunch, and dashed off without a word to 
 anybody. I don't know what was the matter with 
 her." 
 
 Tom laughed and whistled. "I tell you what," he 
 said, "Master Owen will have to mind his P's and 
 Q's with Mary. But come along in I have a rag- 
 ing appetite." 
 
 They all filed into the dining-room, and were barely 
 seated at table when the banging of the hall door 
 announced the return of the truant. 
 
 Without ceremony Mary walked in. Her hat and 
 her fair hair were both plentifully sprinkled with 
 rain, and her short skirt was splashed with mud ; but 
 her cheeks were red from exercise, and there was de- 
 cision and energy in the carriage of her head. 
 
 Tom glanced up from his plate with a quizzical 
 glance. "Hallo, Polly !" he said. "I never thought 
 'twould take you like that. 'Pon my word, I 
 didn't!" 
 
 Mary took off her hat and threw it on a chair ; then 
 she seated herself next to Father James, and began 
 to rub her hands, which were wet and red from ex- 
 posure to the weather. 
 
 "Didn't you?" she said coolly. "I'm glad I'm inter- 
 esting for once." 
 
 Tom pretended not to hear. "Just imagine a sensi- 
 ble girl like you driven to meandering by yourself on 
 a wet evening ! God help us ! Love must be a terri- 
 ble disease !"
 
 258 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 *' 'Tis well, then, you were inoculated so young ! 
 Stephen, can I have some soup?" 
 
 In banter and chaff between brother and sister, the 
 dinner wore on until dessert was laid upon the table; 
 then Tom, losing interest in the game, turned his at- 
 tention to the rest of the company. 
 
 "You're very quiet this evening, Father James," he 
 said. "What's the matter with you?" 
 
 Father James, who had been listening to a low 
 murmur of conversation carried on by Carey 
 and Isabel under cover of Tom's noisy jesting, 
 started almost guiltily. "Nothing is the matter," 
 he said. "I suppose I'm a bit dull from being in all 
 day." 
 
 "Dull ? Lord, no wonder ! I felt like a stewed rab- 
 bit up in town." 
 
 "Why don't you all go out, then?" said Mary. 
 " 'Tisn't at all a bad night now." 
 
 As she spoke, she pushed away her plate, rose, and 
 sauntered to the window. 
 
 "I wouldn't mind another turn myself, if any one 
 else is on for it. Will you come, Daisy ?" 
 
 Daisy rose. "I can't, Polly. I must go and tuck 
 Ted in. He'll cry if I don't. Perhaps Isabel will 
 
 go." 
 
 Mary received the suggestion in cold silence ; Isabel 
 reddened at the obvious slight, and Carey stood up 
 with some precipitation. 
 
 "Is there any note-paper in the desk, Daisy?" he 
 asked. "I want to write a letter."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 259 
 
 "Yes, there is, Stephen. I was writing there be- 
 fore dinner." 
 
 It was Father James who answered ; and, as if fear- 
 ing his statement might be doubted, he went across 
 to the desk and drew forth note-paper and envelopes. 
 
 At this point Mary turned away from the window 
 and took up her hat. 
 
 "Well, who's coming?" 
 
 Father James took an undecided look at Carey ; but, 
 as he saw him seat himself at the desk with business- 
 like decision, his expression relaxed. 
 
 "I'm on for a turn, Mary," he said. "If you'll wait 
 while I get my hat." 
 
 "All right, Father James ! Tom, what about you ?" 
 
 Tom looked after Isabel, who was walking out of the 
 room in Daisy's wake. 
 
 Mary stamped her foot. "Come on, for goodness' 
 sake ! Don't be always hanging between two fires. I 
 had a letter to-day from Aileen Burke, and there's a 
 message in it for you." 
 
 Mary knew her brother. There was no more hesita- 
 tion ; and when Father James appeared at the door- 
 way with his hat in his hand, the three adventurers 
 sallied forth into the hall. 
 
 Carey, sitting at the desk, heard the sound of their 
 feet on the bare boards, heard their talk and laughter, 
 then heard the shutting of the hall door. 
 
 Nothing in the world could have seemed to him so 
 significant, so portentous, as that shutting of the 
 door. By its heavy sound, convention, family in-
 
 260 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 fluence, even friendship seemed to be shut away, 
 leaving him alone with the subtle, secret things that 
 lodge in a man's soul. The silence that succeeded was 
 intense; he found himself listening, the pen upraised 
 in his hand, the sheet of paper before him still clean. 
 
 But nothing came not a breath, not a rustle. He 
 dipped his pen into the ink ; he wrote the date at the 
 top of his letter ; then suddenly, with an overmaster- 
 ing, irresistible impulse, he pushed the writing mate- 
 rials from him, stood up, and crossing the hall, walked 
 into the drawing-room. 
 
 In the drawing-room the curtains had been drawn; 
 on the centre table stood a lamp with a yellow shade, 
 and seated within the circle of its light her elbows 
 on the table, her head supported by her hands sat 
 Isabel, with Mary's Tolstoi open before her. 
 
 At Carey's entrance she started and jumped to her 
 feet, causing the book to fall to the ground. 
 
 "Goodness! How you frightened me!" she said, a 
 dry, nervous catch clipping her words. 
 
 For answer, Carey came forward, picked up the 
 book, and handed it to her. 
 
 "Why aren't you with the others ?" he asked. "Why 
 are you here by yourself?" 
 
 She laughed, still nervous, still over-strung. "Oh, 
 they didn't want me; Mary Norris didn't want me. 
 Couldn't you see?" 
 
 The words were poured forth quickly, but it was the 
 quickness of irrelevance. Each knew by intuition 
 that question and answer were mere conventionalities,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 261 
 
 cloaking the thoughts that were racing through their 
 minds. 
 
 For a moment Carey stood silent and undecided; 
 then he walked to the window and drew back the cur- 
 tain. 
 
 "It's quite fine," he said, looking out. "There's even 
 a moon trying to come out. Look !" 
 
 Isabel was standing by the table, the book in her 
 hand, the yellow lamplight falling on her dress. 
 
 "Look ! Come here !" 
 
 With her pulses throbbing and with a strange sensa- 
 tion in her throat, she came towards him across the 
 silent room. 
 
 "Look !" he said again. "The rain is over." 
 
 "Yes." The word was spoken automatically. She 
 was conscious of nothing but his near presence, their 
 intimate companionship in the dim window. 
 
 "Look here," Carey said suddenly in a tense, abrupt 
 tone. "Let me take you out! Come with me in the 
 car for half an hour !" 
 
 She turned to him, her eyes alight and incredulous. 
 
 "In the car?" 
 
 "Why not? Where's the objection? If people can 
 go for a walk, why not for a drive?" The faint op- 
 position lent heat to his desire. 
 
 "But could we?" 
 
 He caught the note of yielding in her voice; he 
 seized upon it greedily. 
 
 "Of course. Come on! Any minute they may be 
 back." The fever in his thoughts ran through his
 
 262 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 voice, and its tone dominated her. Across the room 
 the quiet lamp was making a pool of light ; but out- 
 side, in the struggling dimness of moon and cloud, 
 there was a sense of elemental things. She looked 
 through the window and her senses seemed to waver, 
 swimming out upon the darkness. 
 "Very well!" she said below her breath. "Very 
 well!"
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 "WE'LL go by the garden." 
 
 Carey's voice was low, betraying the nervous tense- 
 ness of the man ridden by his desires and devoured by 
 the fear that they may be thwarted. Walking across 
 the room, he caught the handle of the glass door, and 
 Isabel heard him swear below his breath as the rusty 
 lock creaked and groaned under his pressure. 
 
 At last it swung open, and the clear air, drenched 
 into added freshness, blew in across the room, making 
 the lamp flame quiver. 
 
 "What about coats?" she whispered. "We can't go 
 like this." 
 
 Carey paused in the act of stepping into the garden, 
 and laughed with sudden embarrassment. "Of 
 course !" he said awkwardly. "I was forgetting 
 coats." 
 
 With instinctive caution, like people who are subcon- 
 sciously sensitive of a guilty act, they stepped quickly 
 and silently back across the room and out into the 
 hall. 
 
 "There's nothing of mine here," Isabel said in the 
 same lowered voice, as they stopped before the laden 
 hat-stand. 
 
 "Never mind ! Take anything. What about this ?" 
 He unhooked a long tweed ulster and held it up. 
 
 "That's Mary's."
 
 264 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Then put it on and let Mary be useful for once 
 in her life!" 
 
 They both laughed inaudibly, as he held the coat 
 out for her and she slipped her arms into the sleeves. 
 
 "Now, a hat! Can you manage this?" He took 
 down a tweed shooting-hat. 
 
 She looked at it doubtfully. " 'Twill be fearfully 
 big." 
 
 "All the better ! 'Twill stick on !" 
 
 She laughed again softly and excitedly, as she put 
 on the hat and drew it down over her ears. 
 
 "What on earth do I look like?" 
 
 He paused in the act of putting on his own coat, 
 and looked down at the face raised to his. 
 
 "Irresistible!" he said curtly, and turning on his 
 heel he led the way back across the drawing-room and 
 through the open glass door. 
 
 As she followed him into the garden, he paused to 
 close it. 
 
 "We can come back by the hall door," he explained. 
 "Now, right across the strawberry-beds to the little 
 gate in the wall ! Give me your hand. 'Twould be a 
 nasty place to stumble." 
 
 Unresistingly she let him lead her through the dark- 
 ness, the heavy wet rhubarb leaves flapping against 
 her skirts, the ghostly apple-trees drooping dark and 
 rain-laden above her head. It was only when they had 
 passed through the garden door and emerged into the 
 big, paved farmyard that he released her hand. 
 
 "Now we're safe!" he said.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 265 
 
 Very carefully he struck a match, guarding it from 
 the damp air ; and having taken his bearings, walked 
 across to the great gate of the coach-house and lifted 
 the iron bar from its socket. He swore again, as the 
 bar reluctantly yielded ; then he stepped back, and the 
 heavy doors swung outward. 
 
 In the shadows of the whitewashed house, the car 
 loomed dark and impressive. He stepped up to it, 
 striking another match. 
 
 "Mike hasn't put a sponge to her yet. The idle 
 ruffian! You won't mind?" 
 
 "No. Of course not !" 
 
 "Right! Then in you get!" 
 
 Burning with excitement, living as she had never 
 lived before save in her dreams, Isabel stepped into 
 the car, buttoning up her coat and pulling her hat 
 well down over her hair. 
 
 In another moment the lamps were lighted, the en- 
 gines set in motion, and the car was a restive animal, 
 trembling, quivering to be off. Carey mounted to his 
 place, and with a silence and precision that seemed to 
 Isabel magical, they glided out into the yard and 
 down the long, wet avenue. 
 
 She drew a sharp breath, and leant back in her seat, 
 clasping her hands upon her knees, as her eyes took 
 in the fleeting vision of the house with its lighted win- 
 dows, and her face was assailed by the cool, delicious 
 sweep of damp night air. It was the same attitude 
 that she had assumed on the day, weeks ago, that she 
 had first occupied this place at Carey's side, the
 
 266 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 same position, the same circumstance, yet what 
 leagues had been covered in the field of emotion since 
 that first drive! 
 
 The five-barred gate at the end of the avenue was 
 open, and without pause he guided the car out into 
 the boreen with the high white hedges, where the 
 luxurious scent of the hawthorn was lying heavy on 
 the air. The remembrance of her drive in Mrs. 
 Power's carriage flashed back upon Isabel with the 
 warm, enveloping perfume, as they splashed down the 
 lane and over the small stone bridge. 
 
 Emerging upon the high-road, a choice of ways be- 
 came inevitable, and she felt her heart bound with 
 new excitement as Carey discarded the direction of 
 Waterford, and, turning the car to the right, headed 
 for the open country. 
 
 On any night the adventure would have been breath- 
 less ; but to-night the elements conspired with fate 
 in the making of an effect. As they passed into the 
 wide roadway, the whole panorama of the sky opened 
 before them, the great ragged space of the heavens 
 rent by the moon's knife; the clouds, massed in grey 
 banks to the likeness of towers, ramparts, castles ; the 
 moon herself, alternately revealed and hidden, as the 
 rolling veil of mist was blown over her pale face. It 
 was a wonderful sky picture, pregnant with mystery, 
 suggestion, peril; but Isabel, looking up from her 
 own wild thoughts, found no fear, no menace, in its 
 wide, wind-swept surface. 
 
 Like a great beast, the car sped onward over the
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 267 
 
 wet and shining roadway, past thick hedges, trees in 
 full leaf, vast corn-fields that in the ghostly light 
 looked like grey, encroaching seas. No word was 
 spoken as they fled on, gaining speed with the flying- 
 moments. It was a mad drive mad as the thoughts 
 that were racing through their minds. Death would 
 have come to either of them then without a tremor;' 
 for in every life there is at least one such hour as 
 this when physical danger and moral danger are 
 alike meaningless, when the soul lifts to the immensity 
 of conscious power, defying fate. 
 
 Onward, onward into the night they ploughed, the 
 mysterious country flying by them, the water hissing 
 from the swirling wheels. Here and there a gate- 
 post flashed by, vividly white; here and there a cot- 
 tage shot into the darkness, the coppery-pink of its ; 
 windows forming the high lights in a picture where* 
 dense black tree-trunks were the shadows. Each 
 landmark on the road fled past, barely waking recog- 
 nition in Carey's mind. The Police Barrack with its? 
 sharp white outline; the railway cutting, where the 
 car seemed to leap as it shot across the rails; the 
 forked roads, conjuring the gallows of old times or 
 the staked body of the suicide ; the scattered lights of 
 Kilmacthomas, where the road for the first time faces 
 the mountains that lie behind Dungarvan ! 
 
 Like a fiend unloosed, the car thundered on on to- 
 wards the mountains and the sea. For the first time 
 since they had left Kilmeaden, Isabel turned and 
 looked at Carey, seated tense and rigid at the wheel.
 
 268 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "How far have we come?" 
 
 "Fifteen miles." The words seemed phantom things, 
 caught and tossed to her by the wind. 
 
 "How far are we going?" 
 
 Either he could not or he would not hear; for he 
 urged the car forward, taking no notice of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Up hill they sped, down hill, then once more up hill 
 to the handful of houses, scarcely worth the name of 
 village, that crowns the summit of the land; then 
 once again the road dropped steeply down, down, 
 past the sparse trees, past the barren fields that whis- 
 per of the coast, until at last, with what seemed like 
 a great convulsion, the car groaned to the sharply 
 applied brake, quivering through all its powerful 
 frame like a living thing, and stopped to its master's 
 bidding. 
 
 Isabel caught her breath, sharply, audibly; Carey 
 leant back in his seat, inactive for a moment after the 
 immense strain of the drive. At last he turned and 
 looked at her. 
 
 "Was there ever a drive like that?" 
 
 His voice was low and unlike itself; and Isabel sat 
 silent. 
 
 "That was living, wasn't it?" 
 
 She whispered something, but neither of them heard 
 any word. 
 
 Then he stood up, a powerful, sombre figure in the 
 deserted silence of the night. 
 
 "Let us get out ! Do you know that that's Dun-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 269 
 
 garvan just below us that Helvic Head and Ard- 
 more are round to the right? We're almost in 
 County Cork." 
 
 He spoke rapidly, uncertainly, and stepping to the 
 ground, he leant against the car, as if still exhausted 
 from his tremendous achievement. 
 
 "Come!" he said at last, turning to her suddenly. 
 
 Obediently she rose, and for a moment paused on 
 the step of the car, looking down at him. 
 
 That moment was supreme; their eyes, meeting in 
 the gloom, spoke secret things ; their souls found each 
 other in the profound solitude. In perfect silence 
 Carey put out his arms and lifted her from her place. 
 
 He lifted her down, but his arms did not relax as 
 her feet touched the ground. 
 
 Thrilled and quivering, she stood motionless in his 
 embrace, conscious of his eyes fixed upon her, in- 
 timately conscious of the hard throbbing of his heart 
 that sensation which every woman experiences for 
 the first time with wonder and with fear. 
 
 "You know, don't you, why I brought you here?" 
 
 Her lips parted, but again no word came. She was 
 aware in every fibre of his intensity, of his passion, 
 of the reality that was sweeping through their lives. 
 
 "I wanted you away from Kilmeaden I wanted you 
 all to myself. Do you understand? All to myself. 
 I've been mad for you for weeks for weeks. Ever 
 since I first saw you I've wanted this. There's no 
 use denying it, there's no use fighting it. Every man 
 has his day. Why shouldn't I have mine?"
 
 270 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 She struggled a little in his clasp. 
 
 "Look at me !" he said. "Look at me ! I've pictured 
 this a hundred times a thousand times ; and a thou- 
 sand times I've trampled it down. But it's no good ! 
 It's no good ! You're always before me your eyes 
 your hair your mouth." He bent suddenly and 
 kissed her kissed her violently. 
 
 "Do you care for me? Tell me! Do you?" 
 
 She struggled again ; then his passion kindled a flrc 
 in her; she threw back her head with a free gesture, 
 and her eyes blazed as they met his. 
 
 "Yes, I care. I've always cared." 
 
 For acknowledgment he released her suddenly, and 
 taking her face between his hands, turned it up to the 
 wan light. 
 
 "Is that the truth? The honest truth?" 
 
 Her glance answered his, burningly, seriously. 
 "Yes ; the honest truth." 
 
 His hands dropped with a gesture of finality. 
 "Then, by God, I'd go down to hell for you !"
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 NEARLY an hour after the car had sped silently down 
 the Kilmeaden avenue, Daisy placid, unthinking, 
 wholly unsuspicious of the mine beneath her feet 
 came slowly down from the nursery, carrying her 
 work-basket and a handful of socks. 
 
 The drawing-room, with its shaded lamp, its bowls 
 of flowers, its quiet atmosphere, wore an air of in- 
 nocence, as though no breath of passion had swept 
 across it ; but if the walls and furniture gave no hint 
 of drama, human emotion was not unrepresented, for 
 Mary stood in the middle of the room, all the rigidity 
 of determination in her small figure, all the sugges- 
 tion of controlled excitement in the pose of her head. 
 
 "So you're back!" Daisy said without looking at her, 
 as she stepped calmly to the table and seated herself 
 in the light of the lamp. "What did you do with 
 Tom and Father James?" 
 
 "They're in the dining-room, playing chess." 
 
 Mary's tone was sharp, acutely sharp, but Daisy 
 was unobservant. 
 
 "Oh !" was all she said ; then she added indifferently, 
 "And where's Isabel?" 
 
 Mary made a little sound of sarcastic contempt. 
 
 "Isabel! Don't ask me!" 
 
 Then at last Daisy's attention was caught. "What's 
 the matter, Polly?" she said, looking up.
 
 272 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I suppose you didn't hear anything, while you were 
 up with Ted?" 
 
 "Hear anything? No. What would I hear?" 
 
 "I thought you might have heard the car coming 
 out of the yard about an hour ago." 
 
 "The car? At this hour of the night? The car?" 
 
 "Yes. The car ! The car !" said Mary, mimicking 
 her. "Oh, Daisy, you make me sick !" 
 
 In blank surprise, Daisy dropped the sock that she 
 was holding. 
 
 "What on earth is the matter with you? What on 
 earth do you mean?" 
 
 Mary turned upon her. "I mean, Daisy, that you're 
 such a fool that a person can hardly even feel sorry 
 for you!" 
 
 The attack was so sweeping and so unexpected that 
 Daisy sat and stared. 
 
 Then it was that Mary, stung to definite action, 
 boiling with accumulated knowledge, dealt her swift- 
 est, best-aimed blow. 
 
 "Stephen has taken out the car and taken Isabel 
 in it!" 
 
 "Stephen! But, why? Where?" 
 
 "Ah, that's left to the imagination! But, then, of 
 course, you have none!" 
 
 "Mary, what are you talking about? What do you 
 mean?" For the first time a note of uneasiness 
 sounded in Daisy's voice; her fingers unconsciously 
 fumbled with her work-basket. 
 
 For answer, Mary walked over to the table and stood
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 273 
 
 looking down at her. "Daisy," she said with delib- 
 eration, "do you mean to tell me that you really are 
 as great a fool as you appear? That all these weeks 
 you have never seen what I saw and what everybody 
 in Waterford saw that Stephen is head over ears in 
 love with Isabel Costello?" 
 
 Like a child who has been dealt a slap across the 
 face, Daisy jumped up, letting her work-basket fall 
 to the ground in a confusion of needles and threads. 
 "Mary! Mary, you're mad!" 
 "Mad? Oh, I'm not the one that's mad!" 
 "But, Stephen ! But but he's married !" 
 Daisy's mind, trained in a circumscribed space, fed 
 upon chosen food, refused the problem as something 
 irreconcilable. 
 
 Mary, overmastered by impatience, threw out her 
 arms in a gesture of exasperation. "Married, in- 
 deed! Good heavens, when will you learn sense? I 
 tell you any living soul but yourself would have seen 
 it weeks ago. I saw it at the Fair Hill dance, the 
 very first time he danced with her. "Tis true, indeed, 
 that there are no people so blind as those who won't 
 see !" 
 
 "But, Mary, how could it be? How could it?" 
 There was panic in Daisy's voice now, mingling with 
 the incredulity. 
 
 Again Mary threw up her hands. "Oh, you exas- 
 perate me! You make me furious, when I see you 
 going on day after day, eating and sleeping and smil- 
 ing as if nothing was wrong ! And all the time those
 
 -274 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 two are laughing up their sleeves, to think what a 
 fool you are!" 
 
 A crimson wave flooded Daisy's face. "Polly ! Polly ! 
 Oh, Polly, don't !" she cried ; and her voice ran up the 
 whole scale of emotions until it ended in a cry of 
 pain. 
 
 At the sound Mary's manner softened. "I don't 
 mean to be nasty," she said, "but you make me wild. 
 It's too much of a good thing when a married man 
 goes out driving at ten o'clock at night with an un- 
 married girl!" 
 
 With a distracted gesture Daisy pushed the fair hair 
 from her forehead. 
 
 "But, Polly," she cried, "it's impossible! It's im- 
 possible ! It's out of the question !" 
 
 "Out of the question, no doubt ! But, all the same, 
 Stephen the immaculate Stephen is careering 
 about the roads at the present moment with the pret- 
 tiest girl he's ever met in his life. For she is that, 
 whatever you or I may say !" 
 
 This touched Daisy to something nearer and more 
 vital than fear: as far as the great passion could 
 have being in her nature, jealousy flared up. 
 
 "Do you mean that he admires her that he notices 
 her?" 
 
 "Indeed I do." 
 
 There was no ignoring the conviction in Mary's 
 lone, and before it the poor flimsy rags of Daisy's 
 self-possession were scattered. 
 
 **How dare you say that, Mary !" she cried. "How
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 275 
 
 dare you think such a thing! Stephen has always 
 been a good husband always, always from the very 
 first. What do you know about it? You read those 
 horrible foreign novels, and you think things happen 
 here like they do abroad. But I tell you they don't. 
 It's different it's different!" 
 
 "Men are never different." 
 
 Again the conviction in the tone swept Daisy's mind 
 like a cold wind. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "What I say. That you are a fool and that Stephen 
 is a man." 
 
 The pause that followed was long and deadly : when 
 Daisy spoke again it was in a thin, faint voice. 
 
 "What makes you say that? Is it only because 
 Stephen has taken her out to-night?" 
 
 "No; it isn't." 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "Things that people have told me." 
 
 "What people?" 
 
 "One person Owen ..." 
 
 "Owen?" 
 
 "Yes, Owen. Owen has summed her up pretty ac- 
 curately, I can tell you! Oh, he was quite honest 
 about it; he admitted that just at first he was taken 
 with her, like the rest of the men, but he had enough 
 of her that night at Fair Hill. You remember my 
 telling you at the time that there was something be- 
 hind that story of the cigarette?" 
 
 "Yes." Daisy's voice was dry.
 
 276 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Well, the something behind it was Stephen!" 
 
 There was the weight of a definite fact in this last 
 pronouncement, to Daisy's narrow conceptions, 
 something final and abyssmal. 
 
 "And where are they now?" she cried, her sudden 
 distraction linking the past with the present. "How 
 long are they gone ? Polly, what hour was it ? What 
 hour was it when they went?" 
 
 " 'Twas nine," said Mary, knowing the value of a 
 brief statement. 
 
 Daisy's glance sought the clock. "And now it's 
 after ten ; it's nearly half -past ten. Mary, what 
 could they be doing for an hour and a half?" 
 
 Mary shrugged her shoulders with a world of sug- 
 gestion ; then her eyes met her sister's. "I'll tell you 
 what you can be doing if you have an ounce of 
 spirit, an ounce of sense." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Be thinking out what you'll say to Stephen when 
 he does come back." 
 
 With a frightened gesture Daisy put out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Polly! Polly! I couldn't meet them I couldn't 
 meet her!" 
 
 "Don't be afraid! She won't be anxious to meet 
 you. But you must see Stephen. Everything de- 
 pends on your seeing him to-night; everything de- 
 pends on what you say to-night. You're his wife. 
 You must assert yourself." 
 
 "Polly!"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 277 
 
 "I mean what I say. You're his wife; make him 
 know it." 
 
 "Polly! Polly, you're not going?" She sprang 
 up, as Mary walked towards the door. 
 
 "Yes, I am. It's between you two." 
 
 "But, Polly !" Her tone was piteous, her face white. 
 "Polly, I can't I can't. I'm afraid." 
 
 Mary paused with her hand on the door. "But you 
 must! No one can help you to-night. It's between 
 you and him. All you have to do is to remember one 
 thing that you're his wife." 
 
 With quiet decision she walked out of the room, and 
 Daisy sank back into her chair. 
 
 The half hour that followed was the worst that had 
 come to her in all her narrow, sheltered life. Pain, 
 jealousy, acute nervous anticipation warred in her 
 brain like a peal of discordant bells. Hot rage 
 scorched her, as the hands of the old gilt clock crept 
 on, marking the minutes ; cold dread chilled her bod- 
 ily, as her imagination strove to conjure her interview 
 with Stephen. A dozen times she started up, imag- 
 ining the sound of the car; and at the realisation of 
 each mistake, she sank back again, physically sick 
 and faint. When at last the real sound came no 
 myth of the brain, but the whirr and grind of tyres 
 on the wet gravel her whole life seemed to ebb away, 
 leaving her utterly cold, utterly impotent. 
 
 Holding to the back of a chair, she stood listening 
 with morbid intentness. Mary had closed the draw- 
 ing-room door, but in the silence of the night each
 
 278 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 sound of the return came to her distinctly the throb 
 of the engines, the crunch of the brake, the succeed- 
 ing silence that told of the entry into the house ; she 
 heard the feet on the uncarpeted hall, she heard the 
 hat-stand sway as fresh wraps were added to its load ; 
 then she heard Isabel's voice, sounding astonishingly 
 full and vital. 
 
 "Good-night!" it said. "I suppose they're gone to 
 bed if they're not playing cards." 
 
 Then Carey's voice, very low in tone. "Good-night ! 
 Sleep well!" 
 
 Then a silence, a silence in which her strained imag- 
 ination suddenly took fire, burning up her impotence. 
 
 In that second of intense jealousy she could almost 
 have gone forward, have opened the door and con- 
 fronted them; but conventionality checked her. She 
 waited until Isabel's light step passed down the hall, 
 and Carey walked back to the car; then she ran 
 across the room, pulled back the curtain, and pushed 
 up the sash of the window. 
 
 "Stephen!" she called. "Stephen!" 
 
 To her own ears her voice was harsh and dry; but 
 to Stephen, stepping into the car, it was merely ar- 
 resting. 
 
 "Who's that?" he called. "Is that you, Daisy?" 
 
 "Yes, it is. I'm here, in the drawing-room. I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 Carey had set the engines in motion again ; he raised 
 his head, trying to catch the words above their drum- 
 ming.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 279 
 
 "What is it?" he called again. "Do you want me?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. I want you now." 
 
 This time the voice was sharp and penetrating : with- 
 out further hesitation he stepped to the ground and 
 passed back across the hall and into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Daisy, standing in the middle of the room, with agi- 
 tation and nervous strain written in every line of her 
 figure, fastened her gaze upon him seeing with an 
 observation born of the moment that he was paler 
 than she had ever known him, that his face looked 
 strained, his eyes very dark. 
 
 Had his instincts been less keen than they were to- 
 night, he must have noticed the intentness of her re- 
 gard; but with senses sharpened to a point, he saw 
 in a flash all that her glance portended, all that it 
 inevitably presaged. 
 
 "Well?" he said very quietly; and Daisy, with her 
 eyes still upon his face, repeated the word. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 Then, manlike, he sought for the worst at once. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "What is it? Why are you look- 
 ing at me like that?" 
 
 "As if you didn't know!" she cried out suddenly. 
 "What a fool you must think I am never to know, 
 never to see what all Waterf ord sees and knows !" 
 
 He drew back a step, steadying his nerves. 
 
 "And may I ask what it is that all Waterf ord sees 
 and knows?" 
 
 "Why, that you're forgetting me that you're for-
 
 280 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 getting that you're a married man that this Cos- 
 tello girl " 
 
 "Stop !" said Carey, so violently that her voice failed 
 and died away. "I know where you got this idea 
 from. I know the reliable source from which it 
 comes." 
 
 Daisy swayed a little. "Stephen! Stephen, does 
 she matter as much as that?" 
 
 Carey checked his vehemence. "I cannot have a 
 girl slandered." 
 
 "Then she's more to you than me? You put her 
 before me?" 
 
 Again his feelings surged within him, driving the 
 blood to his face. 
 
 "Have you ever had to complain of that?" he de- 
 manded. "Have I ever failed in the bargain of our 
 marriage? Oh, I've held to it well! You've had 
 nothing to complain of!" 
 
 "But now it's different! Stephen, it's true what I 
 said? Isn't it? Isn't it? She matters to you now; 
 you put her before me now?" 
 
 Carey stood silent. 
 
 "Stephen ! Stephen !" Her voice rose, straining his 
 tautened nerves. 
 
 "For God's sake, let me alone !" he cried suddenly. 
 "Haven't I done all a man could do ? Haven't I made 
 you a position, and earned you money, and given you 
 a house? What more does a woman ask from her 
 husband !" 
 
 "Stephen!" she cried again.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 281 
 
 In her distress it seemed that she could only artic- 
 ulate his name; and with each repetition came the 
 added pain of a soul struggling into existence. Poor, 
 trivial Daisy, who had sipped so fastidiously at the 
 cup of life, was tasting its dregs in those bitter mo- 
 ments. "Oh, Stephen !" she cried wildly. "Tell me 
 it's not true! Tell me it's all a lie, and I'll believe 
 you !" She ran forward and caught his arm. 
 
 But the cry fell on deaf ears ; Carey's nerves were 
 strained to snapping-point. At the touch of her hand 
 all the selfish manhood in him revolted against her. 
 
 "Let me alone!" he exclaimed. "Haven't I given 
 enough? Haven't you drained me dry you Nor- 
 rises ?" 
 
 It was the first brutal word he had ever spoken to 
 her, and she bent under it. With a piteous little 
 gesture, she threw out her hands and burst into tears. 
 
 It was the last straw this sound of woman's 
 weeping. He turned upon her savagely. "Be 
 quiet!" he said. "Don't bring the house about our 
 ears !" 
 
 She sobbed on, immersed in her misery. 
 
 "Daisy ! Be quiet ! I tell you I can't bear this !" 
 
 A louder, longer, more despairing sob was all that 
 answered him. 
 
 "Very well, then!" With the quick, nervous step 
 of a man resolved, he walked to the door. 
 
 As she heard the handle turn she looked round, her 
 fair hair dishevelled, her face flooded with tears. 
 
 "Stephen ! Stephen, where are you going?"
 
 282 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Carey never paused, never looked back. "I'm go- 
 ing up to town. I'm going to Lady Lane." 
 
 The words paralysed her. Never in the five years of 
 their married life had he slept out of his own house 
 never had he spoken in this voice of cold dislike. A 
 great terror surged over her, and the little card-house 
 of her contentment swayed as in a tornado. 
 
 "Stephen!" she cried. "Stephen, don't leave me! 
 Don't go ! Stephen !" 
 
 But the cry was lost in the swish and splash of the 
 car, as it fled past the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 A STIFLINGLY hot morning ; a house imbued with the 
 sense of desertion and the close, pervading breath of 
 city air, uncleansed by even a day's rain ! Such was 
 the atmosphere in which Carey was to enact the most 
 fruitful scenes of the drama he called his life! 
 
 At ten o'clock on the morning following his night 
 of stress and passion, he descended from his bedroom 
 at Lady Lane and walked into the breakfast-room. 
 It was characteristic, this breakfast-room charac- 
 teristic of Ireland characteristic of Irish family 
 life. Here all the books of the house were collected 
 in a tall, glass-fronted bookcase ; here stood the ink- 
 stained table at which Ted did his lessons each day 
 when his father had gone to work; here were ranged 
 the two immense globes from which Daisy, Mary, and 
 Tom Norris had made acquaintance with the heavens 
 and the earth in their youthful days, and which were 
 now a source of instruction and amazement to Daisy's 
 children; here, also, stood the old-fashioned work- 
 table that had belonged to Daisy's mother, and the 
 big iron safe in which Stephen kept the documents 
 that he brought home with him from the office. It 
 was a common room; but to those who knew it, it 
 held that homeliness that lies in common things. 
 Many a wet day Daisy had found quiet enjoyment 
 in that familiar atmosphere over a book or a cup of
 
 284 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 tea ; and many a winter night Stephen had returned, 
 tired and cold, to find calm solace in a pipe over the 
 fire. But the time for solace, like the season of fires, 
 was past by many months* As he walked into the 
 room on this sultry summer morning, the cold grate 
 stared at him in all its blank ugliness, and a coating 
 of dust lay thick upon the work-table and the globes. 
 
 Involuntarily a murmur of disgust escaped him, and 
 walking across the room, he threw open the window ; 
 but even here the air was hot and festering, for yes- 
 terday's rain had not been sufficient to scour the 
 streets after three dry weeks, and the odours that 
 assailed him were unsavoury. Another expression of 
 impatience dropped from him, and he turned back 
 into the room at the moment that the door behind him 
 opened and Mrs. Brien, the charwoman, appeared. 
 
 Mrs. Brien was a woman of sixty, inquisitive, talk- 
 ative, lazy, but, as Mrs. Power would have said, "a 
 decent creature." She came into the room now, and 
 stood looking at Carey, whose office she washed but 
 once a-week, and in whom she took a proprietary 
 interest. 
 
 She looked at him for a minute or two in silence; 
 then, as he made no attempt to speak, she broached 
 the subject that had brought her from the lower re- 
 gions. 
 
 "And, what about me wettin' you a sup a tay, sir?" 
 she began. "Shure, you must be perished alive for 
 the want of a bit to ate !" 
 
 Carey looked at her, then looked back again at the
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 285 
 
 window. "Thank you, Mrs. Brien," he said, "but I 
 don't want anything. I'm not hungry." 
 
 Seen in the full light of morning, his face seemed 
 to Mrs. Brien to be strangely unlike itself ; it was set 
 and pale, and his eyes had the hollow look of a man 
 who has not slept. 
 
 "An', shure, isn't that a foolish thing, now!" she 
 was constrained to say. "The Lord knows you must 
 be wantin' somethin' wid nayther bit nor sup passin' 
 your lips these twelve hours. What harm if you had 
 a dhrop of whiskey itself last night, afther the long 
 dhrive you had !" 
 
 Here Carey's patience suddenly gave way. "Oh, 
 for goodness' sake go away and don't bother me!" 
 he cried. "I thought you were supposed to keep this 
 place clean?" He passed his hand over the work- 
 table and showed it to her, black with dirt. 
 
 She looked at it without confusion. "Well now, if 
 that isn't a quare thing !" she said with interest. "An* 
 meself afther scrubbin' this room as clane as a bar- 
 rack-yard yesterday mornin' ! But, shure, 'tisn't dirt 
 it is at all, 'tis on'y dust." 
 
 Carey shook his head hopelessly. "Oh, go away!" 
 he said again. "If you have no work to attend to, 
 I have." 
 
 Her face expressed dismay. "Work! An' is it go 
 down to the office you will, without a bit to ate?" 
 
 "I'm not going to the office; I've just telephoned 
 to say so. I have work to do here." 
 
 "Well, of course you knows your own business ; an'
 
 286 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 'tisn't for the likes of a poor woman like me to be 
 dhrillin' you about what you ought to be doin' " 
 
 Carey took out his handkerchief, wiped his fingers 
 violently, and crossing to the safe, opened it with an 
 ostentatious clatter of keys. 
 
 "Are you going or will I have to put you out?" 
 
 "I'm goin', sir I'm goinV She sidled slowly to 
 the door, but on the threshold paused and looked 
 back. "I'll come in agin, to see will you be havin' 
 that sup a tay !" 
 
 He groaned, then made a wide gesture of relief as 
 he saw her go, and heard her feet in a pair of his 
 cast-off boots flapping away into the distance. 
 
 With her departure, a change seemed to pass over 
 him ; the mask of caution dropped from his face, dis- 
 playing a light of sudden, feverish energy. Restrain- 
 ing himself to methodical action with evident diffi- 
 culty, he threw open the heavy door of the safe and 
 lifted out the bundles of family documents, which it 
 was his habit to keep under his personal supervision. 
 They were not a very imposing array, but such as 
 they were, they represented the march of the Carey 
 family, from the day when Barny Carey, in the first 
 pride of affluence, had seen fit to make a will. Tak- 
 ing them carefully in both his hands, he blew the dust 
 from the pink tape that held them together, and car- 
 ried them across the room to the ink-stained writing- 
 table. There, he drew up a chair and, seating him- 
 self, began a careful perusal of the papers, taking 
 them in order, one by one. The task was absorbing,
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 287 
 
 and he buried himself in it, to the exclusion of all out- 
 ward sights and sounds. Now and then, as he read, 
 his latent excitement seemed to break bounds, and he 
 would pass his hand nervously across his forehead, 
 pull his chair nearer to the table, or, seizing a pen, 
 would dip it in the ink and make rapid notes from 
 the documents before him. 
 
 His task was at its height, his nervous attention 
 fixed, when the hall-door bell pealed with a sudden 
 clanging vigour that echoed through the quiet house. 
 At the sound he gave a start, and made a large blot 
 on the paper before him ; then he smiled grimly at his 
 jarred nerves, and settled to his work again, as he 
 heard Mrs. Brien flap down the hall. Some milkman 
 or baker, he told himself! Even charwomen had to 
 live! And the more surely to avoid disturbance, he 
 planted his elbows on the table and put his hands over 
 his ears. 
 
 In this new attitude he heard nothing of the col- 
 loquy at the door nor of the passage of steps that 
 followed it ; he heard nothing of the opening of the 
 breakfast-room door under Mrs. Brien's tentative 
 hand, or the apologetic scraping of her feet on the 
 threshold. But another and subsequent sound he did 
 hear the familiar tones of Father James's voice 
 sounding suddenly close behind him ; and, hearing it, 
 his hands dropped from his ears, and he wheeled round 
 so sharply that Mrs. Brien jumped back in alarm. 
 
 "Oh, sir," she cried, "I hope I done no harm. But 
 how could I refuse his rivirence !"
 
 288 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Father James put up his hand. "That's all right, 
 my good woman ! Sure, what harm would it be ! Go 
 on now back to your work." 
 
 Not daring to oppose the priest, Mrs. Brien reluc- 
 tantly withdrew, and Father James was left to con- 
 template Carey's angry face his sharp, interroga- 
 tive glance the hand that had shot out instinctively 
 to cover the papers spread upon the table. He looked 
 at him for a moment in silence, then his soul's absorb- 
 ing thought broke from him in one word. 
 
 "Stephen ! Stephen ! Stephen !" he said ; and never 
 were love and rebuke and pity so blended in a human 
 voice. 
 
 Carey made no response. By set and deliberate pur- 
 pose he began to collect his papers into a heap. 
 
 Father James followed the movement ; then he shook 
 his head sadly. "You're gone a long way away from 
 me, Stephen, when you think Pd be spying on you !" 
 
 Carey flushed, and with a sudden gesture flung the 
 papers back upon the table. "You can see them if 
 you like P' he cried. "And if you have come here to- 
 day to preach to me, Father James, I'd have you to 
 remember that I'm thirty-eight years old, and that 
 I've heard a sermon nearly every Sunday of my lif e !" 
 
 He pushed back his chair, rose abruptly, and walked 
 across the room to the cheerless grate. It had been 
 bound to come this moment of conflict, and now 
 that it was here, he would meet it like a man ! Stand- 
 ing there, resolute and defiant, he struck the first 
 blow.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 289 
 
 Father James met the words, met the antagonistic 
 glance; and in the humble simplicity of his heart 
 prayed that he might do the right. 
 
 "Stephen," he said gently, "I have been talking to 
 Daisy ; I know it all." 
 
 Carey threw up his head in swift indignation. 
 "Then the whole crowd knows! Oh, this is intoler- 
 able!" 
 
 "Easy, boy ! Easy ! No one else knows. No one 
 only me knows what passed between you not even 
 Mary. Her trouble seems to have made a woman of 
 the poor child, all of a sudden." 
 
 He searched Carey's face for any softening, but 
 there was none, and he put out his hand towards him 
 in sudden supplication. 
 
 "Stephen, Stephen, have you no thought that she's 
 your wife that she' " 
 
 But Carey flung out his arms in a sharp, uncon- 
 trolled gesture. 
 
 "Father James," he cried, "Pre remembered her for 
 five years ! now I'm remembering no one but myself !" 
 
 There was revolt and passion in the cry ; and Father 
 James, with his knowledge of life, with his instinct of 
 race, admitted with a sinking heart that here was no 
 playing with fire, but a great conflagration induced 
 by a strong hand. 
 
 "Stephen !" he exclaimed. 
 
 But Carey's tongue was loosed, and his words rushed 
 forth, a torrent that laughed at flood-gates. 
 
 "Look here, Father James !" he cried. "You think
 
 290 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 you know me you think you've known me all these 
 years since my father died; but you've never known 
 me. Never! Never! What have I seemed to you? 
 A plodding, industrious, sensible man the sort of 
 man to do well to marry to settle down ! Oh, we 
 both know the cant! But underneath all that far 
 down fathoms down I have been something quite 
 different all the time. I tell you I have had big 
 dreams I am my father's son !" He paused and drew 
 a quick, sharp breath. 
 
 "You've thought me content you've thought me 
 satisfied; but I can tell you often and often, sitting 
 in my office, living out the petty routine, playing the 
 eternal game, the world has risen up before me till 
 my head swam. I've wanted it all, all, all, I tell you 
 success riches women!" He wiped his damp 
 forehead with the back of his hand and took another 
 sharp, hard breath. 
 
 "Oh, I've kept it under you needn't remind me of 
 that. But a volcano is quiet till the fire breaks out !" 
 He stopped once more to look defiance at the old 
 priest standing before him with fear in his heart and 
 faith and prayer in his soul. 
 
 "I've kept it under. I've worked and plodded and 
 slaved till I thought I had reconciled myself; but I 
 find that I was wrong. I suddenly find that for me, 
 even for me, the respectable citizen, the cut-and- 
 dried lawyer, there's life to be lived ; and, by God, 
 do you think I'll refuse it?" 
 
 "Stephen! Stephen! What are you saying?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 291 
 
 "What you hear. Just exactly what you hear. I've 
 found a woman who is gold and wine beside the women 
 I have known, and I'm going to have her, if hell stood 
 between us !" 
 
 Father James looked at him quietly and steadily. 
 " 'Tis easier to bridge hell than to bridge life, 
 Stephen !" 
 
 The gentle, sober tone steadied Carey. 
 
 "I don't understand you." 
 
 "I think you do, Stephen. What I mean is that a 
 man can never undo any single thing that he has 
 done." 
 
 Once again Carey wiped his forehead ; then he thrust 
 at his antagonist again with renewed fierceness. "I 
 see what you mean ! I've expected this I'm pre- 
 pared for it. But I'll have it without any of your 
 philosophy ; I'll have it in brutal facts. I'm a man 
 who has had to live in spite of the world a man who 
 has had to work had to marry had to conform in 
 every way. I know that I have a wife " 
 
 "And children, Stephen." 
 
 Carey's mouth hardened. "Yes and sons," he cor- 
 rected. "I have a wife and sons ; but a wife who has 
 no more susceptibility than a doll, and sons who can- 
 not fail to make their way, for they will have money 
 and a pack of relations the two passports to success 
 in this damned country. Am I to stand back because 
 fate has thrust me into this position ? Am I to refuse 
 what the gods give?" 
 
 "Stephen, you're mad!"
 
 292 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Am I mad? Is this mad?" He walked back to the 
 table and caught up a sheaf of papers. "When you 
 came, I was going through my papers no one shall 
 say I left my wife unprovided for." 
 
 "Stephen ! Stephen, boy ! Is it you that are speak- 
 ing ? To pay off your wife with money 1" 
 
 "My wife ! The doll out of the shop window !" 
 
 "A doll ! A doll, is it ? I wish you could have seen 
 her to-day. Faith, Stephen, 'twas a doll with the 
 paint washed off!" 
 
 Carey's wrath boiled. "Daisy !" he cried. "Daisy ! 
 Is it always to be Daisy ! I tell you it's life, not toys, 
 I'm playing with now." 
 
 "But that's not life, Stephen ! That's not life ! It's 
 neither life nor love but just the temptation of the 
 flesh." 
 
 Carey turned on him with fierce contempt. "And 
 what does a priest know of a man's temptations?" 
 
 A very humble look came over Father James's face, 
 and for a moment he stood silent; then he raised his 
 head slowly, and something akin to illumination shone 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "Don't be too sure about that, Stephen. Priests are 
 men too and there's more than one sort of tempta- 
 tion. You wouldn't think to look at me now that I 
 had a besetting sin once and that sin pride would 
 you?" 
 
 Carey was silent silent and ironical. 
 
 "Well, I had, then I had." Father James's voice 
 dropped. " 'Twas long ago, before your time, when
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 293 
 
 I was one of David Marsden's curates down at Bally- 
 karney. He's dead these thirty years the Lord have 
 mercy on him ! but he was a big man in his own lit- 
 tle way, a great aristocrat and a well-read man too; 
 and whatever the reason of it was, he took a fancy to 
 me from the first, and I raw from Maynooth. I never 
 could rightly understand it, but he was always 
 friendly to me in his old-fashioned, grand sort of a 
 way; and often after the early mass, when I'd be 
 after preaching, he'd come up to me in the chapel 
 yard and put his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " 'Mr. Baron,' he'd say, as we walked together to 
 the gate. He'd never put the 'Father' to our names, 
 always the 'Mister.' 'Mr. Baron, you have a brogue 
 that could be cut with a knife ; but, 'pon my word, 
 you'd coax the birds off the bushes with that tongue 
 of yours!' 
 
 "And so it went on, Stephen, from one thing to 
 another. It seemed like as if his fancy for me was 
 contagious, for people outside Ballykarney began 
 taking notice of me too; I began to be asked up to 
 Waterford to preach charity sermons. At last I was 
 made a curate at one of the city churches. You heard 
 all that, maybe, long ago ; but what you never heard 
 was that pride began to grow up in me pride that 
 I was picked out before older and better men to teach 
 the Word of God and pride that the space round 
 my confessional used to be black with penitents of a 
 Saturday night. Then it came that people began to 
 flatter me and to call me lucky ; they began to say
 
 294 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 that I had a grand future in front of me, and that 
 the bishop had me in mind for a big parish. But, 
 mind you, Stephen, there's a queer way in all these 
 things ! People said I was a great man ; but the old 
 bishop the Lord have mercy on him! knew better, 
 and the Almighty knew better still. I wasn't a great 
 man, and time was to learn it to me. 
 
 "Well, Stephen, the years passed on Easter and 
 Advent and Christmas and one by one the parishes 
 fell in, and one by one other men got them ; and sick 
 and sore and sorry grew my heart, and less and less 
 they called me lucky, till at last I would see them 
 looking at me out of the corner of their eye, and 
 hear them whispering behind my back, 'Poor James 
 Baron ! His chance has passed him by !' 
 
 "Well, Stephen, my heart went near to breaking 
 all those years, though nobody ever knew it ; and then 
 at last at long and at last the parish came. It 
 came and I fifty-five years old and what do you 
 think it was? What do you think it was, Stephen? 
 What but Scarragh Scarragh, a bit of a mountain- 
 side with the grazing of a handful of goats ! I tell 
 you I had black thoughts the night I knew it first. 
 I had thoughts of refusing it altogether and going 
 out to America. In America, I said to myself, a man 
 can find his level!" He paused, and threw a quick 
 glance at Carey from under his lashes. "But the Al- 
 mighty thanks be to Him! put sense into me, 
 Stephen and I said nothing and went where I was 
 told ; but the first Sunday that I said mass in my lit-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 295 
 
 tie barn of a chapel there was never a sorer man. I 
 tell you that, priest and all as I was, there was red 
 rebellion in me when I turned round to preach to the 
 handful of a congregation savages, I think I called 
 them in my arrogance and pride! 
 
 "But, Stephen, God's ways are queer ! I stood there, 
 not knowing how I was going to put my tongue to a 
 sermon, when my eyes fell on an old man kneeling on 
 the bare flags near the altar rails. I had seen the old 
 fellow the day before, and somebody had said to me, 
 'That's old Darby Farrell of the mountain; he's all 
 alone up there now ; his six sons are dead, and his 
 three grandchildren are after going to America last 
 week.' The words came back to my mind as I stood 
 there looking at him. His poor old bones were 
 doubled up with the rheumatism and the work, his 
 fingers were that twisted that he could hardly pass 
 the rosary beads through them, and his face had the 
 look of starvation in it ; but his eyes were fixed on the 
 tabernacle, and his lips were moving all the time, and 
 I would have taken my oath then and there that he 
 was thanking God ! 
 
 "I tell you, if the Almighty had put out His hand 
 and touched me that minute, I couldn't have felt it 
 more. All of a sudden my pride melted, and I spoke 
 to those poor, simple people as I had never spoken 
 in a grand city church ; and when the mass was over, 
 I went back to my little bit of a house and I burned 
 every sermon I ever wrote. That's many a year ago 
 now, Stephen, but there hasn't been a day since then
 
 296 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 that I haven't blessed God on my bended knees ; for 
 when I walk out on my bit of a mountain and see the 
 plants sprouting up out of the earth, and look up at 
 the sky and see the stars shining each one in its own 
 course, each one in its own place I see things that, 
 maybe, I'd never have seen all my life long if I was 
 a great man with a big congregation and a big 
 church and perhaps a big debt harassing my 
 mind!" 
 
 Father James stopped. Without artificiality, with- 
 out self-consciousness, he had told his story. With 
 fierce persistency Carey had closed his ears to the sim- 
 ple sentiment lying within it, but against his will the 
 truth behind the sentiment had penetrated his brain. 
 It was the pronouncement of a man thirty years older 
 than himself thirty years nearer the grave thirty 
 years further removed from human prejudice, from 
 human passion. Fear gripped him an appalling 
 fear the fear of renouncing that which he coveted. 
 
 "That's all very well !" he cried suddenly. "That's 
 all very well for you, but not a word of it applies to 
 me not a word of it." 
 
 Father James had seen this attitude before ; he had 
 seen it in the condemned criminal, refusing to make 
 his peace with God; he had seen it in the sick and 
 sorry of soul, coming with lagging steps and hot, 
 rebellious hearts to the tribunal of confession, and 
 never once had his courage failed before it. 
 
 "Stephen," he said quietly, "can you dare to tell me 
 that ? Can you look down into your soul, and dare to
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 297 
 
 tell me that you are so big a man that you are ex- 
 empt from the common lot that falls to us all?" 
 
 "I'm choosing the common lot I'm going the com- 
 mon way !" 
 
 "You're going the coward's way !" 
 
 In the might of his zeal, the shabby figure of Father 
 James seemed to tower in the silent room ; there was 
 grandeur in his rugged face, power in his rough 
 voice. He was fighting for the soul he loved, and 
 the weapons he used were eternal. 
 
 "Stephen," he cried, "your duty is plain before you ! 
 You married Daisy, and the day you married her you 
 shut every life away from her but the life with you. 
 You gave your word to the Almighty God to keep 
 and guard her. Are you a man at all, that you're 
 forgetting that?" 
 
 With sudden violence Carey struck the table. 
 "Haven't you finished yet? Good God, haven't you 
 finished yet?" 
 
 "Not yet, Stephen ! Not yet ! There's one thing yet 
 I have to say. It's the remembering of a day long 
 ago, when you and I stood like this, and faced out 
 bitter things. 'Twas twelve months after the poor 
 father's death, and it seemed that something near to 
 ruin was staring you in the face. I remember the 
 little room in your lodgings as if it was yesterday, 
 and I remember the pain that was in my heart to see 
 the old look coming on your young face that ought 
 to be turning towards nothing but amusement. I re- 
 member it well, Stephen; I remember it well. You
 
 298 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 stood for a long time with never a word and never a 
 sign ; then, all of a sudden, you turned on me, fierce- 
 like and determined. 
 
 " 'I'll live it down, Father James I* you cried out. 
 'I'll live it down; but, by God, if ever I have sons 
 of my own, they'll never have a hell of their father's 
 making !' J; 
 
 It was the old priest's last arrow, and it sped home 
 swift and true. For a long space Carey stood, silent 
 and white ; then, like a man dazed, he went forward and 
 put his hands roughly on Father James's shoulders. 
 
 "Go away ! Go away !" he said hoarsely. "I've had 
 enough !" 
 
 Father James made no resistance; he went quietly 
 across the room, but at the door he paused solemnly 
 and looked back. 
 
 "Stephen," he said gently, "may the Almighty God 
 bless and help you!" Then he turned and passed 
 into the hall. 
 
 Until the last footfall had died into silence, and the 
 thud of the closing door had echoed through the 
 house, Carey never moved: then, haltingly, unstead- 
 ily, after the manner of a man who has suffered long 
 illness, he walked back to the table, seated himself at 
 his old place, and, throwing his arms out across the 
 scattered papers, let his head fall forward into his 
 hands.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THERE are periods in the life of every man when 
 mind and body seem disassociated, and time and space 
 become as vague conceptions failing to touch the per- 
 sonal ; when events loom up like a fleet of ships that, 
 rudderless and with tattered sails, plough headlong 
 to destruction before the hurricane of fate. 
 
 Such a period of cloud and stress enveloped Carey. 
 No recollection of time, no consciousness of place, 
 moved him, as he cowered in his attitude of despair. 
 He felt maimed, mentally and physically ; and with 
 the shame of mutilation, his courage ebbed. 
 
 The minutes passed, sultry and leaden; the usual 
 sounds of an empty house started out of the silence 
 the cracking of the furniture, the scraping of a 
 mouse, the faint flutter of the hideous paper decora- 
 tion in the grate ; then from overhead came the thud 
 and shuffle of Mrs. Brien's feet as she made up his 
 bedroom, the banging of the basin and jug on the 
 marble-topped washstand, the scraping of the casters 
 as she pulled the bed this way and that. At another 
 time these descriptive noises would have driven him 
 to action ; now they did not even penetrate the outer 
 wall of his absorption. He sat numbed and impotent, 
 broken by the storm. 
 
 Time passed a quarter of an hour, half an hour, an 
 hour; then at last a new sound broke the quiet the
 
 300 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 loud, imperious ringing of the hall-door bell. He 
 heard it as he had heard the rest, without interest, 
 without fear, without curiosity. All the world might 
 come now! Nothing mattered. 
 
 Upstairs, Mrs. Brien also heard it, and paused in 
 her noisy cleaning of the bedroom. 
 
 "Let ye ring agin whoever ye are!" she said to 
 herself, considering her feet and the long flight of 
 stairs. 
 
 As though the unseen visitor were conscious of her 
 remark, the bell clashed forth once more this time 
 with such vigour that she dropped the dust-pan and 
 brush that she was holding. 
 
 "How impatient ye are whoever ye are !" she mut- 
 tered as she tramped downstairs, straightening her 
 dirty apron as she went. 
 
 Passing along the hall, she took an inquisitive 
 glance at the closed door of the breakfast-room ; then 
 she hastily pulled down her sleeves and opened the 
 hall door an inch or two. 
 
 Through this aperture she took a grudging look at 
 the intruder, and either her heart softened or there 
 was something unusually interesting in the appear- 
 ance of the visitor, for she opened the door another 
 inch. 
 
 "Good morning, miss !" she hazarded in her most 
 amiable tones. "I suppose 'tis Mrs. Carey you're 
 after wantin'?" 
 
 The visitor flushed a deeper red than that which al- 
 ready mantled her cheeks.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 301 
 
 "No," she said quickly. "It's Mr. Carey I want to 
 see. He's here, isn't he?" 
 
 Mrs. Brien took a closer survey of the youthful 
 figure and expressive face, and a dozen questions 
 made medley in her brain. 
 
 "Mr. Carey?" she repeated. "Sure, 'tis at the office 
 Mr. Carey always do be at this time a the day !" 
 
 The visitor took a step nearer to the hall door. "I 
 know ! I know that ! But I was at the office and he's 
 not there. So he must be here. He is, isn't he? Do 
 tell me." 
 
 Long afterwards, in the privacy of her family cir- 
 cle, over a teapot of stewing tea, Mrs. Brien was wont 
 to declare that the look which accompained this ap- 
 peal would have melted the heart of a stone; so her 
 reply when it came was becomingly soft. 
 
 "Well," she said, " 'twouldn't be wishin' for me to 
 be tellin' you a lie, an' 'tis inside by himself in the 
 breakfast-room he is this very minute. But I don't 
 know at all, God help me, that I ought to be disturbin' 
 him." 
 
 "But you will? You will?" In her insistent eager- 
 ness the visitor stepped across the threshold. "It's 
 very particular I promise you he won't be vexed." 
 
 Mrs. Brien shook her head weakly, and drew back 
 into the hall, giving ingress to the intruder. 
 
 "Well, all I can say is, God help me if I'm doin' 
 wrong !" She shook her head once more, led the way 
 down the hall, and very tentatively knocked on the 
 breakfast-room door.
 
 302 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Impatience spread over the visitor's face. "Knock 
 again!" she urged. 
 
 "Sure, I'd be in dhread, miss ! 'Tisn't an hour since 
 I heard the hall door shuttin' on another visitor 
 and maybe he's thinkin' 'tis enough of it he had." 
 
 "Then, let me!" 
 
 "Oh, don't, miss! Don't, for God's sake! 'Tis as 
 much as my place is worth." 
 
 "Then go away, and let me do it alone. I'm not 
 afraid of him." The girl put her hands on the char- 
 woman's shoulders and pushed her from the door. 
 "Go back to your work, and he won't even know that 
 you let me in." 
 
 The woman yielded; and with a quick gesture, at 
 once triumphant and excited, her conqueror turned 
 the handle of the door and walked into the breakfast- 
 room. 
 
 The opening of the door was sharp and sudden ; 
 Carey wheeled round in his chair, then sat motionless. 
 
 "Isabel !" 
 
 Isabel closed the door softly and securely, then 
 turned and looked at him. 
 
 It would have been difficult it would have been 
 wellnigh impossible to guess at the thoughts, the 
 questions that held sway in her mind at that curious 
 moment, at the war of sensations that clashed 
 within her. In the expression of her eyes, in the poise 
 of her young body, in her eager, parted lips was the 
 flowering of some subtle promise the outpouring of 
 that mystic essence of womanhood that had en-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 303 
 
 chained Carey by its strange and secret suggestion 
 in his first vision of her at Fair Hill. 
 
 She stood there, waiting, expectant; and as he made 
 no sign, she tiptoed across the room and paused be- 
 side his chair. 
 
 "I came," she said. 
 
 It was a breath a mere whisper but it ran like 
 wine through his blood. For one conquering mo- 
 ment all things became dim; the knowledge of her 
 presence wrapped him like a perfumed garment; he 
 turned to her, holding out his hands. 
 
 With a little cry she caught them. 
 
 "Ah ! And I thought that you were angry !" 
 
 A flood of warmth, of passionate relief, swept 
 through the words. She confessed herself in that 
 brief sentence laid bare her heart without fear or 
 shame. 
 
 "I know something happened last night, but I don't 
 know what it was." Her tongue, loosed by her re- 
 turned confidence, ran on in swift explanation. "I 
 saw nobody at all at breakfast this morning; and 
 Julia told me that you went up to town last night on 
 business, and that Mary and Father James went up 
 with Tom at nine this morning. At first I was afraid, 
 and wandered about the garden, wondering what I 
 had better do; and then suddenly suddenly." Her 
 fingers tightened about his, her eyes besought his un- 
 derstanding. "I felt that whatever had happened 
 whatever it was I must come to you. So I came! 
 Was it any harm?"
 
 304 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Again the confession of allegiance the sweet, spon- 
 taneous confession in eyes and voice and words. In 
 sudden torture of mind, Carey freed his hands. 
 
 "Was it any harm ? Oh, it was ! You are angry !" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then what?" Doubt ran through her words like 
 a fine vibration. 
 
 "Nothing. Nothing." 
 
 "Then why did you turn away?" 
 
 "Did I turn away?" He was striving blindly to 
 gain time, attempting vainly to compound with fate. 
 
 "Yes, you did. Oh, I don't understand ! You must 
 be either sorry I came or glad. You must be either 
 pleased or angry. Which are you? Which? Which?" 
 
 "Glad." The words slipped out. 
 
 Again she gave a little cry, seizing upon the admis- 
 sion. "Ah, then nothing else matters !" With a sud- 
 den gracious movement she dropped to her knees be- 
 side him, and, looking up, strove to read his face. 
 
 "If you are glad, nothing else matters ! Nothing 
 else in the whole wide world matters! Wasn't that 
 what you said last night?" 
 
 There was triumph, love, infinite allurement in the 
 inflexions of her voice. She nestled up to him, draw- 
 ing about her eyes that web of oblivion that women 
 so deftly weave, shutting from her vision the broader 
 issues of the moment, content in the consciousness of 
 loving and being loved. She caught his hand again 
 and held it against her cheek, and the warmth of the 
 contact passed into him, thrilling him. The wild ap-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 305 
 
 peal of the blood woke in him, and with it the oppos- 
 ing cry of his will. 
 
 He withdrew his hand suddenly, almost pushing her 
 from him. 
 
 "Isabel," he said, "we must forget last night! Do 
 you understand? We must forget last night! It's 
 past and dead and done with. We must forget 
 it!" 
 
 Never afterwards could Isabel remember what she did 
 in that moment, when the blood receded to her heart, 
 ebbing from her face, her .hands, her feet, and then 
 rushed back a torrent that sang in her ears. It 
 seemed to her that the world had slipped away that 
 she was alone with Carey in space, in some vague and 
 nebulous place, where time and circumstance did not 
 exist. When at last her tongue found words, her 
 voice assailed her ears, an uncontrolled, unfamiliar 
 thing. 
 
 "What do you mean? We must forget last night?" 
 
 Then, for the first time since she had entered the 
 room, he felt the impulse to stand up, not from the 
 sense of courtesy, but from the blind human instinct 
 of facing peril or pain upon one's feet rather than 
 crouching in a seat. He rose, and stood before her, 
 one hand holding the back of his chair, the other 
 resting on the papers that still lay upon the table. 
 There was something inexpressibly hopeless in the 
 pose of his body something final and tragic that 
 sent the blood back once more to her heart. 
 
 "Oh, what is it?" she cried, in sudden articulate fear.
 
 306 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "What is it? Don't stand like that. Don't look like 
 that." 
 
 "It's nothing but that we must forget last night. 
 That we must forget it." 
 
 She stared at his drawn face. "But why? But 
 why? Oh, but you're teasing me! It's some joke!" 
 She tried to laugh ; but it was a laugh that withered 
 away, and in the silence that succeeded the close, 
 stifling silence that blent itself with the atmosphere 
 of the room the fear within her turned to panic. 
 
 "Oh, say something ! Make me understand ! I'll feel 
 that I'm going mad if you don't make me understand. 
 Last night you said that nobody existed but me 
 that I was the one thing in the world that made you 
 want to live that " 
 
 Carey threw out his hands. "Stop ! For the sake 
 of God, stop ! I tell you there was no last night. We 
 dreamt it. It never was." 
 
 She faltered a little, but her courage was a strong 
 thing. With an impulse, intensely ardent, intensely 
 feminine, she moved towards him again. 
 
 "Something has happened that I don't understand. 
 But, look, look, I care for you ! I care !" She made 
 a wide, proud gesture, offering herself to him. "I 
 care !" 
 
 There was all love all tenderness all yielding in 
 the movement and in the words ; in both it seemed that 
 nature had struck the chord of a great harmony. 
 
 Carey heard it his soul vibrated to it, but he 
 turned away, blindly, inarticulately.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 307 
 
 "What is it? Don't you care any more?" 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 "Tell me ! Tell me ! I must know." Fear rushed 
 in again over her voice, marring the music. Her 
 words trembled, as she strove to make him meet her 
 glance. 
 
 "I can't explain. We must forget, that's all. I 
 can't explain." 
 
 She drew back very slowly, as though her move- 
 ments were accommodating themselves to some 
 strange slow alteration taking place within her mind. 
 
 "Then you're sorry for last night?" 
 
 "No! By God, I'm not!" 
 
 The cry was torn from him, but he disowned it even 
 as he gave it utterance. "No! I don't mean that. 
 I am sorry for it." 
 
 Her eyes blazed. "But you're not ! The first thing 
 was the true one. You do care. I do matter to you." 
 She stepped forward, catching his arm. "Look at 
 me! You must. You must. Nothing in the world 
 can put last night away. What does anything else 
 matter? We care for each other. I'm much more 
 mad now than I was last night ; then I was afraid 
 I was afraid even to let you kiss me ; but afterwards, 
 when I was alone in my own room in the dark, I knew 
 that I had imagined all the fear. If you had come 
 for me then, I'd have gone with you out of the house, 
 and not cared who saw. If you were a tramp, walk- 
 ing the roads from one town to another, I'd rather 
 walk them with you than be married to a king. I
 
 308 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 never knew I could feel so much. It's all here 
 choking me !" She put her hand to her throat. " 'Tis 
 that that made me come here to-day the feeling that 
 I must tell you." 
 
 She stopped breathless, passionate, reckless in her 
 prodigal giving. The emotions of her ancestors were 
 racing through her her blood was proving itself in 
 a riot of feeling. 
 
 Carey listened each word, each quickly-taken 
 breath, searing him like a flame. At last his endur- 
 ance broke. 
 
 "Stop!" he said. "Stop! It's all over. It's all 
 over, I tell you. We were mad last night ; we're sane 
 to-day." 
 
 It was a torrent of water on a kindled fire, and the 
 fire hissed up to meet it, quivering and fierce. 
 
 "You mean that ? Truly, really, honestly you mean 
 that?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 No words in his life had cost him what those two 
 words cost, but he said them steadily. 
 
 "You mean it? After all that you said? After all 
 that I said?" 
 
 He bent his head. 
 
 "Then some one has been here? Some one has 
 changed you?" She flashed round upon him, her 
 body trembling, her eyes alight with question. Her 
 emotions were swaying her from one pole to the 
 other ; it was a toss of a coin whether love or hate 
 turned the scale.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 309 
 
 He stood rigid rigid as he had been in Father 
 James's presence. 
 
 "I told you I have no defence to make. I know I 
 seem a criminal and a coward; but you are young, 
 you will forget and it doesn't matter about me. I 
 can only say, thank God I didn't ask you to come 
 with me last night!" 
 
 Isabel's face flamed. "You say that? You say 
 'thank God' you didn't ask me to come with you last 
 night?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Then I say 'thank God' too !" 
 
 The scale had turned. Her face was white with 
 rage her whole being quivered with it. She seemed 
 the very figure of fury of outraged pride. 
 
 "I told you while ago that I cared for you," she said 
 when she could command her voice. "Now I tell you 
 that I feel nothing nothing nothing but that I 
 hate you. I loathe you ; I detest you. You are one 
 of the rest just one of the rest. What a fool I was 
 ever to have thought that you were different ! What 
 a fool! What a fool! I'm all right to dance with 
 and to flirt with, when there's nothing better to do ; 
 but next morning, when you've had time to think " 
 
 "Isabel !" 
 
 "Next morning you can say 'thank God I'm well out 
 of it!'" 
 
 "Isabel !" He stood impotent before the sweeping 
 gale of her rage. All the man in him cried apprecia- 
 tion of her scorn ; all the passion in him urged him to
 
 310 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 one act to seize her in his arms, to hold her as he had 
 held her last night, covering her lips with kisses, hid- 
 ing his face in the dark cloud of her hair. But he 
 made no movement; he stood stonily silent, seeing 
 with the eyes of his mind the thronging ghosts that 
 surged between them. 
 
 And Isabel saw only the mask the set face, the 
 impassive figure. 
 
 "Oh," she cried again, "I wonder now, when I look 
 at you, how I could ever have been so mad as to care ! 
 I wish I had words enough to tell you all I feel. To 
 say that I hate you is nothing nothing " 
 
 She drew a sharp breath; and their eyes met in a 
 long eloquent glance. 
 
 "I feel I feel that I could kill you !" she said ; and 
 turning suddenly, she ran to the door, ran down the 
 hall and out into the close, deserted street.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 DOWN the street went Isabel a slim white figure in 
 the still picture of dusty town life, hurrying onward, 
 looking neither to right nor left, seeking her home 
 with the instinct of a hurt animal. The heat was in- 
 tense, her light cotton dress felt a weight about her 
 limbs, her exhaustion showed itself in a dew of mois- 
 ture that broke out upon her forehead, but she never 
 paused, never moderated her pace until the New Town 
 hill confronted her with its ironical sense of old asso- 
 ciation. 
 
 Waterford is a lethargic place on a summer morn- 
 ing, and she aroused little comment as she made her 
 hasty progress. One or two passers-by looked after 
 her, to wonder why any one should hurry on so hot 
 a day ; otherwise, she passed unnoticed. 
 
 There was nobody about, as she opened Miss Cos- 
 tello's little gate ; nobody about, as she walked up the 
 little strip of garden, arid in the baking sunshine. 
 It looked like a place of death, and the rage in her 
 heart burned hotter as her glance skimmed over the 
 dry earth and parched flowers. 
 
 This was life, a thing of revolt hot, thirsty, 
 seared ! 
 
 She raised her hand and pulled the bell until its 
 sound echoed through the house, causing Lizzie, the 
 servant, to rush to the bedroom window, and Miss
 
 312 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Costello to drop the bowl in which she was making a 
 pudding for the early dinner. 
 
 The bowl was dropped precipitately ; and, without 
 waiting to dust the flour from her dress, Miss Cos- 
 tello ran into the little hall and opened the front door. 
 
 "What on earth possessed you to ring like that?" 
 she demanded angrily ; then amazement overspread 
 her angry face. "Why, the Lord defend us, it's Isa- 
 bel !" she exclaimed. "What, in the name of Heaven, 
 has brought you, child? And at this hour of the 
 morning? I didn't expect you for a week!" 
 
 Isabel made no response, but, pushing past her, 
 stepped into the hall. 
 
 Miss Costello stared at her, forgetting in her sur- 
 prise to close the door. 
 
 "What's the matter? Did anything happen to you 
 down at the Careys'?" 
 
 The word was a lash to Isabel's soul. "Nothing!" 
 she cried. 
 
 "Then, what on earth ?" 
 
 "Nothing nothing nothing, don't I tell you ! I'm 
 back, that's all. Can't you see for yourself!" 
 
 "But how did you get here? Where's your trunk?" 
 
 "I left it. It's down there." 
 
 Miss Costello stood with open mouth. "Is it the 
 way you had a row with them or what?" 
 
 "No. It's not." 
 
 There was no room in Isabel's mind for the thought 
 of conventionality. Once and forever she had 
 stepped beyond its pale. She was living now as her
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 313 
 
 feelings prompted undisciplined, primitive, careless 
 of all comment. 
 
 "But, good gracious," cried Miss Costello, "you 
 must give some reasons ! You wouldn't come back 
 like this, as if you had dropped out of the sky, unless 
 you were mad !" 
 
 Isabel wheeled round upon her, her face damp and 
 white. "Then that's the reason," she cried. "I am 
 mad. I'm stark, staring, raving mad ; and I'd adivse 
 you to let me alone !" 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she ran up the 
 stairs ; and Miss Costello heard the door of her bed- 
 room shut with a crash that vibrated through the 
 whole flimsy house. 
 
 Inside her own room, her first action was to wrench 
 off her hat. She pulled out the pins with fierce haste, 
 then stuck them back again savagely into the straw, 
 and flung the hat from her across the room. She had 
 known little of life's sublimities in her short span of 
 years ; and all that was elemental and self-engrossed 
 had been unloosed by to-day's pain. From her pas- 
 sions and her prodigality she had given of her best; 
 and that best had been flung back to her a rejected 
 gift. She saw nothing behind that casting back of 
 her favours. Carey had played with her Carey had 
 humiliated her Carey had branded her as the poor- 
 est of things, the woman who has offered herself and 
 been refused. 
 
 As she stood there in the low-ceiled room, so 
 cramped, so tawdry, so intolerable in its herd of mem-
 
 314 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 cries, she lost touch for ever with those about her: 
 she inevitably proved herself the possessor of alien 
 blood the southern woman, all instinct and emotion, 
 whose mind in its native environment would have 
 flown straight to the thought of revenge to some 
 headlong business of swift-turning wrist and deadly 
 knife. The thoughts within her sang to a tune gen- 
 erations old a tune that the fierce, piratical sailor- 
 folk who were her ancestors had brought with them 
 long ago from Spain, when they swooped down in ad- 
 venturous spirit upon the misty coast of Ireland. 
 
 A woman of these sadder isles would have bent under 
 the misery that assailed her in that hour. Appalled 
 by the blackness of life, she would have cowered upon 
 the ground and wept, until her agony and her bitter- 
 ness were melted by her tears. But in Isabel the old 
 strenuous spirit was awake, drying up the source of 
 tears, scorching her brain, conserving her impulses 
 for some perfect act of self-expression. She was the 
 primitive being the being who does not probe and 
 does not analyse who knows what life offers, and 
 acts instinctively upon the knowledge. 
 
 She stood there, giving rein to her passions, her 
 figure erect, her hands holding back the hair from 
 her forehead; and, without conscious desire, her life 
 reacted itself, passing before her like the slides of a 
 magic-lantern. Each poor object in the room quick- 
 ened some recollection. Here, she had dressed for her 
 first dance, intoxicated with the joy of anticipation; 
 here, she had waited with beating heart on the long-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 315 
 
 ago Sunday when her aunt and Carey had talked in 
 the parlour downstairs ; here, she had met the first 
 disappointment, hidden in Carey's brief letter. 
 
 Her mind hung over the remembrance of that night. 
 How young she had been then, in her consideration 
 of trivial things! Mere ink and paper had called 
 forth her emotions ; mere contact with Frank's little 
 bottle of poison had been sufficient to make her shud- 
 der! 
 
 Her mind passed from one train of thought to an- 
 other. Frank! What a poor, miserable coward 
 Frank had proved himself! From her own red 
 anger she looked back upon her last scene with him. 
 How differently she would have acted on that morn- 
 ing, had she been in his place! Conjuring her 
 own coldness, her own desertion, she wondered now 
 that he had not killed her, rather than leave her for 
 another. 
 
 The scene, as it might have been, rose before her 
 sharply ; the thought of the consummating deed the 
 poignant act of killing closed in upon her so vividly 
 that she drew a nervous, audible breath, and let her 
 hands drop to her sides. 
 
 That would have been something worth doing ! That 
 would have been a drowning of pain and shame! a 
 justification of himself! 
 
 Enmeshed in the dream, she closed and opened her 
 hands, as though she could feel the touch of flesh, the 
 yielding of muscle and sinew. What she would give 
 to be a man ! To be a man for one hour, with Frank's
 
 316 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 lost opportunity! Again her fingers locked and un- 
 locked themselves ; and her eyes, driven by her 
 thoughts, turned to the spot where she had hidden 
 away the little poison bottle on the night of the Fair 
 Hill card-party. 
 
 Instead of that dealing in swift justice, Frank had 
 played with death death wrapped in little white 
 lozenges, like wine in a sweetmeat! 
 
 Without definite intention, her feet moved slowly 
 across the room; without definite intention, they 
 paused before the cupboard where the bottle was hid- 
 den, and mechanically her hand went out towards the 
 hiding-place. 
 
 How young she had been then, to tremble at the 
 sight of those white tabloids ! 
 
 With automatic slowness she opened the drawer, 
 permitting a scent of dry decay to issue forth upon 
 the air; and, putting in her hand, groped for and 
 found the small glass object. 
 
 It was certainly small, to carry such potency! She 
 drew it forth, and her lips twisted scornfully. No 
 man who was worth the name of man would have con- 
 tented himself with these, while he had his own strong 
 hands! These were the weapons of a child of a 
 woman ! 
 
 The thought flashed through her flashed through 
 her, unbidden, trembling like a flame from her brain 
 to her nerves so supreme, so overmastering that it 
 shook her as a gale shakes the sapling. 
 
 She held the bottle to the light, and her hand trem-
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 317 
 
 bled so violently that the tabloids rattled one against 
 the other. 
 
 After all, death was death! Her muscles suddenly 
 stiffened, her glance narrowed until a mere pin-point 
 of light showed between the eyelids. 
 
 After all, death was death ! Whether it was an af- 
 fair of knives, of naked hands, or white lozenges, 
 death was death !
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE day of tumult was a Friday, and the Saturday 
 broke at Kilmeaden in a splendour of green and gold 
 a lavish prodigality of sunlight, that spread itself 
 over tree and stream and meadow in a shimmering 
 banner of gold. 
 
 A wonderful morning; a summer morning, when 
 every living creature basked in the consciousness of 
 life; when birds sang riotously, and insects hummed 
 as they hung passive in the haze of heat. 
 
 The hour was nine ; upstairs in the nursery the three 
 children exulted, as the birds and the insects were ex- 
 ulting in the open, thrilled by the vibrating sense of 
 youth; at the hall door Carey's motor-car stood, a 
 dark motionless object in the scene that palpitated 
 with the suggestion of expansion and growth ; in the 
 bare, clean, monastic-looking dining-room, Daisy and 
 Stephen were meeting again in the lull that super- 
 sedes the storm. 
 
 The scene was plain plain and undramatic. The 
 table was laid simply for the morning meal; the full 
 light poured in through the uncurtained windows ; a 
 country bunch of buttercups adorned the white cloth. 
 
 Carey had halted just inside the door; and Daisy 
 was standing by one of the windows in a blue cotton 
 dress, her fair hair neatly brushed, the heavy purple 
 shadows of sleeplessness lying beneath her eyes. She
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 319 
 
 looked tired and pathetic, but she had regained her 
 self-control. She was no longer the despairing crea- 
 ture who had driven him forth from the house two 
 nights ago ; she was a woman who had bought calm 
 with pain and tears, and whose glance, as it sped 
 across the room, spoke many things. 
 
 There was no attempt at greeting. In the middle 
 classes artifice has little place; each knew that the 
 other knew, and explanations seemed superfluous. 
 
 At last Carey came forward into the light of the 
 window. 
 
 "Daisy," he said, "I have come back." 
 
 That was all. No tragedy, no dramatic effect ; and 
 Daisy, the eternal type the wife, the mother ac- 
 cepted the words without question. Looking up, she 
 saw the suffering in her husband's face the revolt, 
 the struggle, the agonising triumph. She did not 
 understand it, for such women are content to class the 
 man of their choice as a being inevitably incompre- 
 hensible; but the maternal instinct in her gushed 
 forth in sudden pity for this being who had returned 
 to her maimed and in pain. 
 
 "Oh, Stephen !" she said in a shaken voice. 
 "Stephen !" and with a new, self-conscious hesitancy, 
 
 she put out her hand and touched his. 
 
 * * * * # 
 
 So Carey returned to his home, unheralded and un- 
 excused. The return was in accord with his life 
 strong, restrained, without colour; it seemed at once 
 an emblem and a prophecy.
 
 320 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Immediately the breakfast was brought into the din- 
 ing-room, he passed without interference to a room 
 at the top of the house where it was his habit to read 
 and smoke on wet days during the summer. This 
 room was comfortless ; a deal-table and a couple of 
 kitchen chairs were its only furniture, and the white- 
 washed walls were bare save for a few fishing-rods, a 
 gun, and a pipe-rack. But its very barrenness, its 
 very coldness, suited him on this day of shimmering 
 glory ; its plainness fitted with his mood ; its isolation 
 almost suggested peace. Locking the door, he threw 
 himself into one of the unyielding chairs, and felt 
 mechanically in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco- 
 pouch the silent comforters of man's black hours. 
 
 Time passed in the locked room ; the day waxed, and 
 with it the sun's strength; nothing marked the flight 
 of the minutes except the thickening of the smoke 
 wreaths, as Carey sat slowly smoking, slowly refilling 
 and relighting pipe after pipe. His mood during 
 that deadened space of time was the mood of a man 
 jaded physically and mentally: exhaustion had fallen 
 upon him a deep lassitude that almost deprived him 
 of the power of thought and one desire alone found 
 place within his brain, the desire for solitude. 
 
 Lunch time came, but the summoning gong passed 
 unnoticed. Two o'clock came, three o'clock; then at 
 four the quiet was broken. A faint and deprecating 
 knock sounded upon the door. 
 
 He started like a man caught in some guilty act. 
 
 "Who's that? Who's there?"
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 321 
 
 "It's me, Stephen Daisy," came the answer. 
 
 "Very well! I'll open. Wait a minute!" Quietly, 
 and without hesitation, he rose and walked across the 
 room: it was the same manner in which he had ap- 
 proached Daisy earlier in the morning, and it almost 
 seemed that he had mapped out a course of action in. 
 her regard, and was holding to it fixedly. 
 
 He opened the door and stood aside for her to pass. 
 
 "I'm frightfully sorry to bother you, but the un- 
 luckiest thing has happened!" She walked into the 
 room, then turned to look up into his face through the 
 cloud of tobacco-smoke. "Mrs. Power and Josephine 
 and two of the boys are below. I never expected such 
 a thing, but they specially hoped to find you here, 
 as it's Saturday, and they haven't seen you since the 
 engagement. I said I'd try if you were in; but if 
 
 you like I can go back and say you're not " Her 
 
 glance lingered over his jaded face. 
 
 For a moment the impetuous annoyance of old days 
 surged up within him the sharp, contemptuous re- 
 joinder rose to his lips ; then with the new control, he 
 checked both. 
 
 "Would you rather I went down?" 
 
 "Oh, no; not if you dislike to. Mary and Father 
 James and I can entertain them. 'Twas only that I 
 
 was thinking " She paused and coloured and 
 
 looked away. 
 
 "What? That they'll talk?" 
 
 "That, perhaps, they might talk." 
 
 Carey nodded grimly. "I'll go down."
 
 322 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "No. No, don't." 
 
 ""Yes; I'll go. Where are they now?" 
 
 "In the drawing-room. You can see them there for 
 a minute, and then I'll take them out. Mary and 
 Josephine and the two boys can play a game of ten- 
 nis and Mrs. Power and I can look on." 
 
 Again the change was visible in Daisy the new 
 endurance, the new consciousness of responsibility ; 
 and through the vapour of his misery, Carey saw and 
 was mutely thankful. 
 
 "All right! Go down! I'll follow you." Again 
 he held the door open for her; then he turned back 
 for a moment into the empty room, to brace himself 
 for the ordeal. 
 
 All his soul revolted from the task awaiting him 
 all his sick senses shrank from contact with the com- 
 mon world but he had made his choice. Henceforth 
 his way would lie along the common path his life 
 would be the common life ! All the fair and splendid 
 circumstance of dreams lay behind him. 
 
 He knocked the ashes from his pipe, pushed his chair 
 back into its accustomed place and passed out of the 
 room. 
 
 On the stairs, the smell of the washed boards the 
 scent of the musk in the red pots upon the window- 
 sill touched him to torturing memory. This morn- 
 ing he had moved past them, numb and unheeding; 
 but now they rose about him poignantly, recalling the 
 brief moments of romance. 
 
 Outside the drawing-room he paused to gather up
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 323 
 
 his strength. He had not seen this room since the 
 night of his adventure, and it lay within his mind as 
 it had looked then a place of half lights and faded 
 perfumes, pregnant with sentiment. He paused, 
 dazed by the cloud of recollection that surged about 
 him ; then he raised his hand, opened the door, and 
 at once Mrs. Power's voice slow, contented, 
 motherly dispelled illusion. 
 
 The visitors were gathered about the centre table 
 where the tea things were laid out, flanked by a large 
 silver punch-bowl and a tray of glasses. The win- 
 dows were all open ; the sun streamed into the room ; 
 a little ripple of laughter was trembling on the air, 
 evoked by Mrs. Power's last remark. 
 
 As Carey entered, she turned to him, a glass in one 
 hand, a silver ladle upraised in the other. 
 
 "Ah, here you are, Stephen! Come and be the 
 arbiter ! Daisy insists that claret-cup is a temperance 
 drink, and Josephine says it isn't. For goodness' 
 sake, agree with Daisy, for I'm famished with thirst, 
 and the thought of tea on a day like this is enough to 
 give any one apoplexy." 
 
 Carey forced a laugh and came forward towards 
 the table. In that first moment he was conscious of 
 nothing but a deep thankfulness for the shelter of 
 Mrs. Power's volubility. 
 
 "I think Father Mathew himself would exempt you 
 from tea with a temperature like this," he said. "If 
 I were you, I'd take the risk." 
 
 Mrs. Power beamed, and proceeded to fill her glass
 
 324 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 generously from the dark, cool liquid in the bowl. 
 "Now, that's what I call logic," she said placidly. 
 "After all, there's no profession like the law it finds 
 such reasonable excuses for our little peccadillos. 
 What do you say, Father James?" 
 
 Father James, who had been standing modestly in 
 a corner, came out into the light at her challenge. 
 
 "Well, well, well !" he said. "Sure, after all ! what 
 is wine but a gift out of the earth !" 
 
 "Very good, indeed, Father James! Though I see 
 Josephine looking a little bit shocked. She's a great 
 total-abstainer, you know, since she attended the last 
 mission !" 
 
 Father James smiled across at Josephine Power, a 
 pale-faced, large-boned girl, who was looking with 
 prim disapproval at her easy-going mother. 
 
 "Ah, Josephine, that's the way of youth!" he said. 
 "All for total-abstinence or total-acceptance! "Tis 
 only age brings the happy medium moderation. 
 Daisy, may I have a sup of that claret-cup myself?" 
 
 "Indeed you may ! Mrs. Power, will you give it to 
 him? We were just going out to the tennis-court, 
 Stephen. The girls are going to play." 
 
 She spoke without looking at Carey, and he an- 
 swered with averted eyes. 
 
 "That's right ! It's too fine to stay in. Mrs. Power, 
 I'll give Father James his drink while you finish 
 yours." 
 
 Mrs. Power willingly resigned the ladle, and fell to 
 sipping the contents of her glass.
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 325 
 
 "And what about yourself, Stephen?" she said. 
 "We ought to drink to the engagement, you know. 
 Where's Mary?" 
 
 "Mary is gone out with Jim and Eddy, to get the 
 tennis rackets," said Daisy. "They're waiting on the 
 court for us." 
 
 "Ah, well, another time! And now, Stephen, come 
 and talk to me. I haven't thought or spoken of an- 
 other thing since Owen told me the great news. 'Tis 
 the wish of my heart fulfilled." She moved towards 
 the mantelpiece, still smiling, still sipping her claret- 
 cup. 
 
 Carey half filled a tumbler for himself, and followed 
 her across the room. 
 
 "I agree with you," he murmured. "It's very satis- 
 factory very satisfactory for all concerned !" 
 
 Strive as he might to fix his attention, the common- 
 ness of the scene, its triviality, its futility, warred in- 
 tolerably with his unhappy thoughts. These people 
 with their petty interests, their familiar, unemotional 
 voices, were things irreconcilable with his mood, 
 files that grated upon his jarred nerves. 
 
 "Ah, 'tis a great thing ! 'Tis a great thing !" Mrs. 
 Power went on. "After all, 'tis the right end for 
 every young fellow to marry a nice girl and settle 
 down ! Look what it did for you, Stephen ! Not, in- 
 deed, that you were ever anything but steady! But 
 still, a young man improves so much with a nice wife ; 
 it seems to form his character." 
 
 Stephen murmured something acquiescent; and
 
 326 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Father James opportunely stepped up to the fire- 
 place. 
 
 "And how is your own good man, Mrs. Power?" he 
 said. "I saw him up in town yesterday." 
 
 Mrs. Power turned, full of new interest. "He's 
 flourishing, indeed, Father James ! Like myself, he's 
 full of delight over this news about Owen. But all 
 Kilmeaden seems to have been up in town yesterday ! 
 Tom and Mary lunched with us ; and now Daisy tells 
 me that Isabel was up too." 
 
 "She was indeed. 'Twas the way her aunt sent for 
 her," said Father James, telling the white lie nobly. 
 "She had one of her bad headaches, it seems, and got 
 a little bit nervous about herself. Indeed, I pitied the 
 poor child, ragged up to New Town on such a kill- 
 ing day !" 
 
 Mrs. Power looked interested. "Good gracious ! 
 You surprise me !" she said. "I was behind Miss Cos- 
 tello at the ten o'clock mass, and I thought I never 
 saw her looking better." 
 
 "Ah, well, old people take notions!" 
 
 Mrs. Power shook her head sympathetically. "They 
 do. They do, indeed! And all the Costellos are 
 a bit cranky. I suppose Isabel will be back 
 to-day?" 
 
 The question was addressed to Stephen ; but Stephen 
 had turned his back, and was lost in a study of the 
 old gilt clock on the mantelpiece. 
 
 "No doubt ! No doubt she will !" said Father James. 
 "But Daisy is waiting for you, Mrs. Power."
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 327 
 
 Mrs. Power turned round. "Oh, Daisy, are you 
 going?" 
 
 "Yes; Josephine and I are ready. Won't you 
 come ?" 
 
 "I will, dear; I will. Only give me time to drink 
 this. You go on, and I'll be after you!" 
 
 "Very well ! But don't forget I'll be by myself when 
 the game begins !" 
 
 "No, dear. I won't." 
 
 Daisy and Josephine Power passed out through the 
 glass door and down the long green garden, their 
 cotton dresses making patches of colour in the full 
 sunlight. Mrs. Power sipped her drink again, then 
 turned to Stephen with a new air of confidence. 
 "Now, Stephen, there's something I want to have a 
 little word with you about. Of course, we're all anx- 
 ious that this engagement shouldn't be a long one 
 I don't approve of long engagements ; and there's 
 nothing for Owen and Mary to wait for. So Mr. 
 Power is determined to make things easy for them; 
 and I think that you, as our solicitor " 
 
 Father James was moving discreetly away, but she 
 checked him with a smile and a wave of the hand. 
 
 "Don't go, Father James! Sure, what is there in 
 any of our families that you don't know ! 'Twas only 
 that I thought, having Stephen here now, we might 
 as well talk the matter over in a friendly way, in- 
 stead of going down formally to the office." 
 
 Carey looked round sharply, seeming not to have 
 heard Mrs. Power's words.
 
 328 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "What was that?" he said. "Wasn't that the hall- 
 door bell?" 
 
 "I don't know. I didn't hear anything. As I was 
 saying to Father James, Stephen " 
 
 Carey laid his glass upon the mantelshelf. A ner- 
 vous look of prescience a peculiar uneasiness was 
 visible on his face. 
 
 "One moment, Mrs. Power," he said. "I think 
 there's somebody outside." 
 
 Mrs. Power looked slightly offended, and Father 
 James glanced sharply at Carey. 
 
 "Will I go and see, Stephen? Maybe 'tis some visi- 
 tor for Daisy, and I could take them out to the ten- 
 nis-ground." 
 
 "Yes," said Carey quickly. "Yes, do. Ah, there's 
 Julia going down the hall !" 
 
 All three stood listening; then suddenly Carey took 
 a step forward, as though he had heard some sound to 
 which the others were deaf. 
 
 "Father James !" he said involuntarily ; then his 
 voice died away. The door was opened by Julia, and 
 without announcement Isabel walked into the 
 room. 
 
 The eyes of the three turned upon her simultane- 
 ously, seeing her variously, according to their lights. 
 Mrs. Power, from the dazzling pinnacle of her ma- 
 ternal happiness, saw nothing but a figure in a limp 
 white dress, a face overshadowed by untidy hair and 
 a carelessly arranged hat ; Father James, in his all- 
 pervading pity, saw a human soul looking out upon
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 329 
 
 the world in revolt and misery ; Carey saw nothing but 
 the fire in the dark eyes. 
 
 Of the three, Mrs. Power was the first to offer greet- 
 ing. 
 
 "Good gracious, it's Isabel!" she cried. "Isabel, 
 dear, how are you ! I hope your aunt isn't bad ; you 
 look as if you had been up all night." 
 
 Father James stepped forward and took Isabel's 
 hand. "Isabel," he said, "we were just this minute 
 talking about you. I was telling Mrs. Power how 
 your aunt sent for you yesterday, because she 
 had one of her headaches." He made the expla- 
 nation insistently, pressing her hand to force 
 it home. 
 
 But Isabel only stared at him. It was obvious that 
 her own thoughts, her own emotions, filled her mind 
 to the exclusion of all else. Convention she had 
 thrown aside; expediency she had discarded as a 
 worn-out garment. She drew her hand from Father 
 James's, and stood looking from him to Mrs. Power, 
 as if flaunting her unexpected presence, flaunting her 
 dishevelled appearance. 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Power stared; then she made a motherly ges- 
 ture of concern. "My dear, what is it? You look 
 tired out. Was the drive too much for you?" 
 
 Isabel drew back to avoid the proffered caress. "I 
 didn't drive. I walked." 
 
 "You walked? You walked from Waterford? Why, 
 you must have been mad !"
 
 330 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The girl made a curious little sound that might have 
 been a laugh. 
 
 Carey turned towards her. "Good God! You 
 walked?" 
 
 "Yes, I walked. How else was I to get here? I'm 
 too poor to drive." 
 
 He turned from the scorn of her glance. 
 
 "Mrs. Power," he said indistinctly, "will you come 
 out to the tennis-court. I'll be back again, Father 
 James !" 
 
 Mrs. Power took another sharp look at Isabel ; then 
 she followed Carey across the room. As they passed 
 together through the glass door she laid her hand on 
 his arm. 
 
 "Did you ever see anybody look so queer as Isabel, 
 Stephen?" she said. "It's my belief that she got a 
 touch of the sun, coming out. If I were Daisy I'd 
 put her to bed and send for the doctor. She's cer- 
 tainly not herself." 
 
 And Carey, from the ferment within his mind, made 
 some inarticulate reply.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 ALONE in the drawing-room, Isabel and Father James 
 stood looking at each other. Now, as at the moment 
 of her entry, the old priest saw nothing of her dis- 
 ordered clothes, nothing of her unkempt hair and 
 dusty shoes ; all he saw, all he yearned over, was the 
 dumb misery that had stamped itself on her face, blot- 
 ting out its beauty, its youth, its colour, as a cruel 
 heel might crush the life from a flower. 
 
 "Child ! child !" he said suddenly. "What's come to 
 you? What's come to you, at all?" 
 
 Isabel stared defiance. "What you wanted to come 
 to me you and the rest !" 
 
 The flame within her whipped the words forth, as 
 it had kindled the light in her eyes. 
 
 He came a step nearer to her, but she wheeled away 
 from him, unconsciously taking up the position by 
 the mantelpiece that Carey had vacated. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she added. "It's all just as it ought to 
 be ! Daisy and Mary playing tennis ; you preaching ; 
 he comfortably eating and drinking!" She paused 
 to catch up the half-filled tumbler. "This is his, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Isabel, child!" 
 
 "This is his, isn't it? Wasn't he calmly drinking 
 this, while I was trudging through the heat and the 
 dust? Wasn't he? Wasn't he?"
 
 332 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And if he was itself, child, sure mustn't we all eat 
 and drink, whatever happens? Isn't that the tragedy 
 of life?" 
 
 "The tragedy!" She laughed and looked again at 
 the glass, as if attracted by the cool red liquid. "I 
 haven't wanted to eat or drink since yesterday." 
 
 Concern and compassion overspread Father James's 
 face. 
 
 "Glory be to God! You don't mean that?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. I have had other things to think about. 
 I suppose women are different from men." She still 
 held the glass, moving it about as the sunlight played 
 upon the wine. 
 
 "But that's a terrible thing! You can't go on like 
 that. See here now." Again he ventured to move 
 nearer to her. 
 
 With a quick, fierce gesture she laid down Carey's 
 glass and turned upon him. "And why can't I go on 
 like that?" she demanded. "I care nothing more 
 about what any of you say or any of you think. 
 Why can't I go on as I like ?" 
 
 Something in her face, something in her voice, 
 alarmed him by its intensity. For a moment he wa- 
 vered before it ; then he collected his quiet strength 
 his inexhaustible gentleness. 
 
 "Look here, Isabel," he said, "I'm going to pour 
 out a glass of that wine, and you're going to swallow 
 it to please me." 
 
 Refusal sharp and violent sprang to her lips; 
 then some suggestion, some thought, arrested it in
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 333 
 
 the utterance ; her expression changed curiously, and 
 she answered unexpectedly. 
 
 "Very well ! Get it for me." 
 
 Immense relief touched Father James, and he hur- 
 ried across the room to the tea-table. 
 
 Isabel stood very still. Only her eyes and her right 
 hand showed any sign of life her eyes following the 
 old priest's movements with a passion of intentness, 
 her right hand stealing silently, stealthily, towards 
 the pocket of her dress. There was a moment of sus- 
 pense ; then, as he bent over the punch-bowl, care- 
 fully measuring out the wine, her fingers found the 
 pocket, shot into the light again, and, with a swift 
 noiseless action, dropped two small white objects into 
 Carey's glass. 
 
 It was an absolutely simple act dexterous, con- 
 trolled, silent; and as Father James walked slowly 
 back across the room, carrying the wine, there was 
 nothing to tell of a deed accomplished. 
 
 "Now, child, to please me ! To please an old man !" 
 He held out the glass. 
 
 Isabel looked at him ; then, with a gesture of final- 
 ity, put her hands behind her back. 
 
 "No, Father James. No." Her tone was no longer 
 stormy, but it was vibrating and tense. 
 
 Father James's eyes narrowed in closer scrutiny. 
 "What is it, Isabel?" he said. "What's come to you?" 
 
 "Nothing. I'm nearly happy." 
 
 "Happy? How happy?" 
 
 "Because I hate him so absolutely much."
 
 334 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Again the chill of fear passed over the old priest. 
 
 "Isabel," he said hurriedly, "drink the wine ! There's 
 a good child, now! Drink the wine!" 
 
 "I'll never drink wine again never as long as I 
 live, after to-day." 
 
 Alarm sprang into his eyes. "Child, what's the mat- 
 ter with you? Why are you so still and quiet-like?" 
 
 "I told you." 
 
 "But I don't like it ! I don't like it !" In his blind 
 sense of misgiving he put out his hand and touched 
 her arm. "Isabel, child, I don't like you like this! 
 I'd rather you raving, as you were while ago; it's 
 more natural. Look now! Rouse yourself!" 
 
 Isabel shook off his hand. 
 
 "And what does it matter how I am? Who in all 
 the world cares?" 
 
 He was silent for a space; then, looking at her, he 
 said steadily, "One person cares." 
 
 "Who?" " 
 
 "Stephen." 
 
 "Stephen !" She made a wild, contemptuous sound. 
 
 "Don't laugh," he said sternly. "Oh, how cursed 
 we are, that not one of us can see outside his own little 
 life that God doesn't open our eyes to one another's 
 sorrows. Child! child! can't you see that Stephen is 
 broken over this business ? Can't you see anything at 
 all but the blackness in your own heart?" 
 
 Isabel's wild eyes turned upon him. "How am I 
 to see it? Where am I to see it?" 
 
 "In his face. Look at his face. He's coming back
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL S35 
 
 now; I hear him in the garden. Look at him when 
 he comes in. Look at his face." 
 
 Carey's step sounded on the garden path, and Isabel 
 turned as he stepped through the glass door. 
 
 He came in quietly, his figure silhouetted against 
 the brilliant afternoon light, and it seemed in a curi- 
 ous way that the long shadow his figure cast em- 
 anated from something within him something dark 
 and tragic rather than by the mere effect of sun- 
 light. There was tangible suffering, tangible strug- 
 gle, marked upon him ; and its very silence, its very 
 strength, made it the more defined. A long, faint 
 shudder passed through Isabel as she stood watching 
 him with her brooding eyes. 
 
 He came into the room ; he looked about him, as if 
 dazed by the alteration of lights; then he walked 
 aimlessly forward to the mantelpiece. 
 
 Isabel's eyes followed him. 
 
 The silence was tense; conscious of her searching 
 gaze, tortured by it and by the ordeal to be re-lived, 
 he looked desperately round for some rational, calm- 
 ing influence. By a common chance, his eye fell upon 
 his untasted wine standing on the mantelshelf. 
 
 He felt no thirst ; the parched dryness of his throat, 
 the burning heat of his brain, would have demanded 
 more than a cup of iced wine ; but it was a natural, 
 rational act to pick up the glass, and he turned like 
 a man unnerved to any rational idea. Slowly, auto- 
 matically, he put out his hand. 
 
 Then suddenly a little cry, very low, very faint
 
 336 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 broke from Isabel. She put out her hand and ar- 
 rested his. 
 
 "Wait!" she said. "Wait!" 
 
 For an instant her fingers lingered upon his; then 
 she drew the tumbler away from him, lifted it slowly, 
 and drank. 
 
 The glass rattled against her teeth ; the touch of the 
 ice chilled her lips ; but, looking down into the wine, 
 her eyes caught the warmth, the redness, the glory 
 of the sun.
 
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