"Was it Billy Sheelan, of the inn, be any chance, sorr?"
"Then he hasn't got lost, sorr; he's got dhrunk. This is Mr. Frinch's car, and if you'll step on to it I'll drive you back to Cloyne, if the young lady has no objection."
The stranger raised his cap. He was a good-looking youth, well dressed, and his voice had a lot of character of a sort. It was a good-humoured, easy-going, happy-go-lucky voice, and it matched his face, or as much of his face as could be seen in the moonlight.
"It's awfully good of you," he said. "I'm dead beat, been on my legs since six, had good luck, too, only I lost all my fish tumbling into one of those bog holes. Just escaped with my life and my rod." He mounted on the same side of the car as the girl and continued to address his remarks to her as Moriarty drove on. "I believe I ought to introduce myself. Dashwood is my name. I came over for some fishing, and the more I see of Ireland, the more I like it. Your country----"
"Are you?" said Mr. Dashwood in a relieved voice. "How jolly! I thought you might be Irish. I say," in a confidential tone of voice, "isn't it a beastly hole?"
"I thought you were Irish. I do like it in a way. The mountains and the whisky aren't bad, and the people are jolly enough if they'd only wash themselves, but the hotels--oh, my!"
"You're staying at the inn near the railway station at Cloyne?"
"Then you know Biddy and the stuffed dog?"
"I believe I am going to live for a while near here. I only arrived this afternoon."
"Only this afternoon. Excuse me for being so inquisitive, but when did you arrive at--I mean----"
"I know. I've been driving all over the country. We had to leave a gentleman at a castle, and now we are going back to Cloyne. Then I have to go on to a place called Drumgool, which is fifteen miles from Cloyne."
"To-night?" said Mr. Dashwood, looking in astonishment at the wanderer.
"I don't know," said the girl, with a touch of hopelessness in her voice. "I expect they'll have to tie me on to the car, for I feel like dropping off now. No, thanks; I can manage to hold on by myself, I was speaking metaphorically."
Mr. Dashwood said nothing for a few minutes. There was a mystery about Miss Grimshaw that he could not unravel, and which she could not explain.