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Updated: June 21, 2025
Be sure to come to-night. The words scarcely carried a meaning to him. It was her brother that had shot the judge the brother whom she had defended and protected all her life. It would kill her when she knew. And he, Sandy Kilday, was the only one who suspected the truth.
"I only dropped in for the last few dances," said Carter, pouring himself another glass of wine. "It was beastly hot and stupid." "I danced every minute the music played," cried Ruth; "and when they played, 'Home, Sweet Home, I could have begun and gone right through it again." "By the way," said her brother, "didn't I see you dancing with that Kilday boy?" "The last dance," said Ruth. "Why?"
When the tumult subsided he found a pair of bright brown eyes smiling up at him and a small hand clasped in his. This idyllic condition was interrupted by a disturbance on the promenade, which caused them both to look in that direction. Some one was pushing roughly through the crowd. "Hi, there, Kilday! Sandy Kilday!" A heavy-set fellow was making his way noisily toward them.
She frowned significantly and made warning gestures toward the interior of the room. At the far window, standing with his back to them, was Mr. Sandy Kilday. He was engaged in a fierce encounter with an unnamed monster whose eyes were green. During his pauses for breath he composed a few comprehensive and scathing remarks which he intended to bestow upon Miss Fenton at his earliest convenience.
"They say I am like her," she whispered to herself. Then she turned to the other picture in her lap. It was a cheap photograph with an ornate border. Posed stiffly in a photographer's chair, against a background which represented a frightful storm at sea, sat Sandy Kilday.
But she's wilful, Kilday; when she was just a baby she'd sit with her little pink toes curled up for an hour to keep me from putting on her shoes when she wanted to go barefoot! She's a fighter," he added, with a gruff chuckle that ended in a sigh, "but she's all I've got." Sandy gripped him by the hand, then turned the corner into the courting-box.
Kilday?" she said, half smiling, half timidly. In the excitement of the moment he forgot his carefully practised bow, and the omission brought such chagrin that he started out with the wrong foot. There was a gentle, ripping sound, and a quarter of a yard of lace trailed from the hem of his partner's skirt. "Did I put me foot in it?" cried Sandy, in such burning consternation that Ruth laughed.
"It's your show, Sandy Kilday!" he said, half aloud, with a bit of a brogue that flavored his speech as the salt flavors the sea air. "You don't want to be a bloomin' old weather-vane, a-changin' your mind every time the wind blows. Is it go, or stay?"
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