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In 1850 another Conroy, a broken peasant, the victim of evil fate and gross injustice, had left Ireland in an emigrant ship with a ragged wife and four half starved children clinging to him, with an unquenchable hatred of England in his heart. The hate, it appeared, had lived on in his son, had broken out again in a grandson, dominating the cynical cosmopolitanism of the financial magnate.
'Thanks, dear Landi!... But even if he wishes to see me, ought I to go? 'That I don't know. But you will. He lighted the long cigar. Next morning Edith, who always came down to breakfast, though somewhat late, found on her plate a letter from Lady Conroy, that most vague and forgetful of all charming Irishwomen. It said: 'My DEAR MRS OTTLEY,
Her eyes led me to believe at dinner the night before that I was the one man among her guests that she really wanted to talk to. Now her lips said the same thing plainly. I did not believe it, of course; but I felt quite as much gratified as if it had been true. "Mr. Conroy comes this afternoon," she said.
I think it would be very convenient for you to have a nice girl with a good memory to keep your things in order. 'That's it, cried Lady Conroy, delighted, as she lit a cigarette. 'That's it someone who will prevent me dropping cigarette ash all over the room and remember my engagements and help me with my war work and write my letters and do the telephoning. That's all I shall want.
Conroy spoke contemptuously. He had a low opinion of the men who win honours in universities. They seemed to him to be unpractical creatures. He had, indeed, himself founded a university before he left America and handsomely endowed several professorial chairs. But he did so in the spirit which led Dean Swift to found a lunatic asylum.
Of course it's very good in its way, and I do hope the Liberals will lay to heart what he says about fighting before it's too late " "Mr. Conroy is a business man," I said, "and has a reputation for shrewdness." "That's just it," said Lady Moyne, "and the others the Dean and that curious Mr. Cahoon.
Pink took three puffs at his cigarette, and lifted his long lashes to Rowdy's gloom-filled face. "Stole?" he asked briefly. "Stole," Rowdy repeated disgustedly. "So was the whole blame' bunch, as near as I can make out." "We might 'a' knowed it. We might 'a' guessed Harry Conroy wouldn't have a straight title to anything if he could make it crooked.
'Excellent! said Gilbert. 'I knew I could depend on you. Come along. Wait for a minute, Chartres. A tall woman, veiled, sat by the far window. She bowed her head as the doctor murmured Conroy knew not what. Then he disappeared and the inspector came for tickets. 'My maid next compartment, she said slowly.
Miss Conroy turned her face toward him and smiled her pleasure, and Rowdy hovered between heaven and another place. He was glad she smiled, and he was afraid of what that subject might discover for his straightforward tongue in the way of pitfalls. It would not be nice to let her know what he really thought of her brother. "This looks to me like a lane," he said diplomatically.
Conroy, in the flurry, found himself next to a man of his watch. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the second mate, who was still vociferating orders. "Hark at him!" he said. "Before we're through I'll teach him manners too." And he patted his knife.
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