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teeth and false sentimentality. Look, here ’ s the bus, I shall have to go. Be sensible, Sarah, give him a trial. He ’ s a good paying proposition and you ’ ll hardly ever see him. ”
    “ Indeed, I ’ ll keep out of his way, or my Irish paddy will get the better of me. ”
    “ And A. G. Flint, too, I wouldn ’ t mind betting! Now be a good girl, Sarah, and calm down. If he proves impossible, Dad and I will come and turf him out. I must run—goodbye. ”
    He left her there standing in the rain. She stood waving angrily after the departing bus, then, with a more sober vision of Mr . Flint ’ s five guineas a week plus extras, turned and went slowly back to the boat.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    Miss Dearlove was just as they had imagined her, even to the jingling charm bracelets and floating scarves. Sarah drove into Knockferry to meet the afternoon train, and she had no difficulty in picking out the new English arrival from the handful of passengers, mostly farmers and returning: visitors to Dublin. Miss Dearlove stood peering rather helplessly about her, coats and scarves trailing untidily, from her arms, three suitcases of assorted sizes piled on the platform beside her.
    She looked relieved at being addressed, but eyed Sarah a little doubtfully.
    “ And who are you, my dear? ” she enquired, looking past Sarah ’ s shoulder as if she hoped and expected to find someone more responsible to escort her on the last stage of her journey.
    “ I ’ m Sarah Riordan. The others were busy and couldn ’ t come, and Danny ’ s started school again. Anyway, I ’ m the only one who can drive the car, ” said Sarah, picking up a suitcase.
    “ I see. You are Miss Riordan ’ s niece, perhaps? ”
    “ No. I mean Aunt Em ’ s name is O ’ Neill. She ’ s our mother ’ s sister. ”
    “ I see, ” said Miss Dearlove again, but she sounded confused. “ But the Miss Riordan who wrote to me ...”
    “ Oh, that was me, ” said Sarah. “ Joe drafted the letters; but I put in the bit about home comforts. Did you like that? Our other lodger, I mean guest, took great exception. ”
    “ Charming ... a charming letter ... but surely, my dear child, you cannot be running a guest house at your age? ”
    “ I ’ m eighteen. Kathy ’ s the eldest, but you see the house is mine, so I ’ m the landlady. ”
    As the old Morris began to plunge along the south road, Miss Dearlove shut her eyes and began to wish herself back in the comparative safety of Streatham where she lived. Sarah drove a car as she rode a horse, exhorting it up hills with click ing s of the tongue and encouraging cries, reining it in abruptly at unexpected obstacles, and roaring round the worst bends in bottom gear.
    “ Is this the only road? ” Miss Dearlove asked a little faintly.
    “ The north road ’ s much longer as you have to go right round the lough, ” shouted Sarah, changing gear with violence. “ Don ’ t be afraid, Miss Dearlove, it ’ s quite safe when you know it—just bumpy. ”
    What an odd little girl, Miss Dearlove thought, observing Sarah with an interest that was slightly tinged with foreboding. It was quite absurd, of course, to suppose that she was really the person to whom she would pay one ’ s weekly bill and make such complaints and requests that were necessary, hut the whole family sounded a little confused. Miss Dearlove clung resolutely to the fact that there did appear to be an aunt, otherwise she might have been forced to the conclusion that she had fallen among a pack of irresponsible children. But she wa s nothing if not tenacious. By the time they had reached Dun Rury she had managed to sort out the relationships and past history of the Riordans.
    “ You ’ re very isolated, ” she remarked, as Sarah pointed out the house to her. “ I hadn ’ t realized —”
    “ Don ’ t let that put you off, ” said Sarah cheerfully. “ I go into Knockferry once a week, and you can always row across the lough to the north