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By Root 1830 0

column every Wednesday in The Daily Express, for which he was paid fifteen shillings. But that did not make him a West Briton surely. The books he received for review were almost more welcome than the paltry cheque. He loved to feel the covers and turn over the pages of newly printed books. Nearly every day when his teaching in the college was ended he used to wander down the quays to the second-hand booksellers, to Hickey's on Bachelor's Walk, to Webb's or Massey's on Aston's Quay, or to O'Clohissey's in the by-street. He did not know how to meet her charge. He wanted to say that literature was above politics. But they were friends of many years' standing and their careers had been parallel, first at the University and then as teachers: he could not risk a grandiose phrase with her. He continued blinking his eyes and trying to smile and murmured lamely that he saw nothing political in writing reviews of books.

When their turn to cross had come he was still perplexed and inattentive. Miss Ivors promptly took his hand in a warm grasp and said in a soft friendly tone:

`Of course, I was only joking. Come, we cross now.'

When they were together again she spoke of the University question and Gabriel felt more at ease. A friend of hers had shown her his review of Browning's poems. That was how she had found out the secret: but she liked the review immensely.

Then she said suddenly:

`O, Mr Conroy, will you come for an excursion to the Aran Isles this summer? We're going to stay there a whole month. It will be splendid out in the Atlantic. You ought to come. Mr Clancy is coming, and Mr Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney. It would be splendid for Gretta too if she'd come. She's from Connacht, isn't she?'

`Her people are,' said Gabriel shortly.

`But you will come, won't you?' said Miss Ivors, laying her warm hand eagerly on his arm.

`The fact is,' said Gabriel, `I have just arranged to go--'

`Go where?' asked Miss Ivors.

`Well, you know, every year I go for a cycling tour with some fellows and so--'

`But where?' asked Miss Ivors.

`Well, we usually go to France or Belgium or perhaps Germany,' said Gabriel awkwardly.

`And why do you go to France and Belgium,' said Miss Ivors, `instead of visiting your own land?'

`Well,' said Gabriel, `it's partly to keep in touch with the languages and partly for a change.'

`And haven't you your own language to keep in touch with - Irish?' asked Miss Ivors.

`Well,' said Gabriel, `if it comes to that, you know, Irish is not my language.'

Their neighbours had turned to listen to the cross-examination. Gabriel glanced right and left nervously and tried to keep his good humour under the ordeal, which was making a blush invade his forehead.

`And haven't you your own land to visit,' continued Miss Ivors, `that you know nothing of, your own people, and your own country?'

`O, to tell you the truth,' retorted Gabriel suddenly, `I'm sick of my own country, sick of it!'

`Why?' asked Miss Ivors.

Gabriel did not answer, for his retort had heated him.

`Why?' repeated Miss Ivors.

They had to go visiting together and, as he had not answered her, Miss Ivors said warmly:

`Of course, you've no answer.'

Gabriel tried to cover his agitation by taking part in the dance with great energy. He avoided her eyes, for he had seen a sour expression on her face. But when they met in the long chain he was surprised to feel his hand firmly pressed. She looked at him from under her brows for a moment quizzically until he smiled. Then, just as the chain was about to start again, she stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear:

`West Briton!'

When the lancers were over Gabriel went away to a remote corner of the room where Freddy Malins' mother was sitting. She was a stout, feeble old woman with white hair. Her voice had a catch in it like her son's and she stuttered slightly. She had been told that Freddy had come and that he was nearly all right. Gabriel asked her whether she had had a good crossing. She lived with her married daughter in Glasgow and came to Dublin on a visit once a year. She answered placidly