Paddy Adair, the “next-best-thing,” as she was fond of calling herself, and the reason for which will appear hereafter, sat at the table, and spread all around her were little square books of “patterns for blouses,” from which she was vainly endeavouring to make a selection. Meanwhile she kept up a running conversation with the only other occupant of the room, a girl with dreamy eyes of true Irish blue, who sat in the window, motionless, gazing across the Loch at the distant mountains. She heard no word of all her sister was saying, but that did not appear to trouble Paddy in the least, so doubtless it was not an unusual state of affairs. “This one with green spots and pink roses would look…
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