Denis Quirk laughed heartily at her remark.
"You don"t like my face?" he remarked. "Haven"t I been called the ugliest man in Grey Town? And proud I am of it."
"Good-day!" cried Molly Healy. "I will not ruin your paper, after all, as I had intended doing. But my heart is sore for poor Desmond--out there."
She, in turn, pointed towards the east before she left the office.
This day was spent by Denis Quirk in fighting. In the council committee he came into conflict with the man whom he regarded as the greatest opponent to the progress of Grey Town. This was Councillor Garnett, and he was not above the suspicion that he made use of his privileges to further his own ends. Apart from this, he was at once narrow-minded and obstinate. For such men as he Denis Quirk had no mercy.
The council of Grey Town was not unlike other munic.i.p.al councils--its members honest for the greater part, but many of them men who followed old traditions, and believed that quiet things should not be moved. For many years they had lived under a system of accepting the imperfect, and never attempting to make it more perfect. Of these easy-going, self-satisfied gentlemen Councillor Garnett was the chief.
This special meeting of the council had been summoned to consider the condition of the roads in the town. Year after year the council had spent less money on the roads than they deserved, and year after year the roads had degenerated. At this time they were deplorable, and Denis Quirk had compelled his fellow-councillors to take action. After a drive around the town, they met to discuss ways and means, and then occurred a scene that was the first skirmish in a fierce campaign.
At this time Denis Quirk stood practically alone. Opposed to him was a body of resolute Conservatives; between the two factions, a few who hesitated, favouring Denis Quirk rather than Councillor Garnett. The debate began gently, but it ended in such a storm as the munic.i.p.al council chamber had never witnessed before.
The mayor, a kindly man, was at his wits" end to keep the peace. Again and again he called the two parties to order, until finally the meeting broke up, Denis Quirk having been defeated.
But he was the last man to accept defeat. From the munic.i.p.al chambers he hurried round the town to convene an indignation meeting for the following week. Meanwhile he laid his case before the public in the columns of "The Mercury." This accomplished, he turned home to "Layton."
Councillor Garnett was hand in glove with Ebenezer Brown, and the latter was, above all things, a good hater. He had little cause to love Denis Quirk, and he possessed not a little power in the town, gained by illicit means. In those days there were factions in Grey Town, as there always will be where progress confronts stagnation. The skirmishes and battles were fought over mere trifles, but they were fought none the less bitterly for that reason. Day after day Denis Quirk found himself defeated; yet day after day he gained strength, a member here and there from the doubtful councillors, and public approbation abroad.
But at home in "Layton" he was not happy, for he recognised relentless hostility on the part of Kathleen O"Connor, and he realised that John Gerard was too intimate with the girl. It was not for him to remonstrate with her. He had no right to speak, no reasons to advance against Gerard, beyond an unreasoning antipathy. In his heart of hearts he believed that Gerard, now an agent in the town, was a worthless fellow, but such unproven beliefs are useless. He could only look on hopelessly, and trust that time would put things straight.
Desmond O"Connor paid a flying visit to "Layton" in the summer. He came quite unexpectedly, and surprised Kathleen one afternoon when she was reading to Mrs. Quirk out in the garden. Molly Healy was there, too, cutting flowers for the church, returning every now and again to interrupt the reading.
Desmond O"Connor came walking up the avenue, lined by trees and shrubs, and paused to look at the group on the green lawn under the shade of a large elm tree. He looked fresh and bright in his face, although it had lost some of the tan a.s.sociated with country life. His eye was clear, and his step free; there was the dignity of self-respect in the way in which he carried himself.
Molly Healy was the first to see him. Shading her eyes with her hand to avoid the glare of the sun, she took one look at him. Then she dropped her basket of flowers, and hurried towards him, crying:
"It is Desmond himself!"
Kathleen sprang up and dropped her book. The two girls hastened to meet him.
"Take him away to your room, Kathleen," said Mrs. Quirk, when she had welcomed Desmond. "I can look after myself, and you have much to talk about."
"Let me look after you, Granny," cried Molly Healy; but she cast a regretful eye at Kathleen and Desmond.
"No, Molly; you can come with us and hear what he has to say for himself," said Kathleen.
"May I, then? But I would only be in the way," suggested Molly.
"Not one bit, Molly. Come and listen to my wonderful tale of adventure--a story of robbers slain, wild animals subdued, good fairies and witches," said Desmond.
"I hope you are minding your soul. It is a dangerous place for young men, is Melbourne," said Mrs. Quirk.
"Oh, that"s all right," replied Desmond, airily. "I am not on the side of the saints or the sinners."
Molly Healy noted this reply, but she abstained from commenting on it.
She was shrewd enough to recognise that the man who boasts of lukewarmness is generally something less than tepid.
"You will be coming to see the Father?" she suggested.
"You must make my excuses, Molly. I am here to-day and back in Melbourne to-morrow. I have fallen on my feet. Where do you think I am working?"
he asked Kathleen as they walked towards the house.
"On a paper," she suggested.
"No; in an advertising agency, the biggest in Melbourne, drawing posters for them, and helping in the business. I shall be a partner before long.
Jackson, the boss, has been a good friend to me, and Mrs. Jackson might be a mother, and Sylvia--a sister."
The hesitation that preceded the latter part of this speech was not lost upon Molly Healy. It caused her a spasm of pain that was sharp, if it was only short-lived, for she was a girl, if a sensible and healthy one, and she always had greatly admired Desmond O"Connor.
In the dining-room they sat down close together.
"I am glad you have such good friends? How did you find them?" asked Kathleen.
"I can"t for the life of me discover that. Jackson came to see me and offered to help me. I rather fancy Gerard must have sent him."
"Gerard!" cried Molly Healy, scornfully. "Do you fancy he would take so much trouble? It is "out of sight as good as buried" with Gerard."
Kathleen O"Connor flushed up at these words, but refrained from reply.
Desmond answered banteringly:
"You will hate to the end, Molly?"
"Sure, my hates are as enduring as my loves," said Molly. "You can always know how you will find Molly Healy."
"I don"t think you are quite fair to Gerard," said Desmond.
"Now, tell us about--Sylvia Jackson, Desmond," said Kathleen, anxious to terminate the discussion.
"Sylvia Jackson," he answered, with an a.s.sumed carelessness, that was in itself suspicious to the critical ears of Molly Healy. "Why are you so anxious to hear about her?"
"Is she pretty?" asked Kathleen.
Molly Healy watched him curiously, and noted a certain embarra.s.sment in his face.
"That is a question of taste. Some people consider her pretty," he answered.
"And why not say that Desmond O"Connor is one of those people? Of course she is pretty, Kathleen, and charming and kind to Desmond. Didn"t he say so? Are you kind to her, Desmond?" cried Molly.
"Kind to her?" he replied, with a species of horror in his voice, as if one of his most sacred convictions had been criticised. "One cannot be kind to a girl like Sylvia Jackson."
"And why not kind?" asked Molly.
"I admire and respect--in fact, I almost reverence--her. She is so"--he paused for a suitable word--"so ethereal. She is more like a spirit than a piece of common human nature."
Molly Healy was with great difficulty attempting to restrain a giggle.