"Oh, it 's nothing," he laughed. "She seemed to be acting rather strangely. Anything wrong?"
She put her hands up to rub her eyes in a pretense of sleepiness. "Yeh scart the heart out of me," she evaded him. "I was dreamin'."
He waited.
"Annie?" she said. "Sure, she 's worried, poor gurl, be the heat. She 's not well. She 's not well, at all."
He replied: "She seemed cool enough just now. She went out in a heavy jacket.… She asked me to answer the door bell for her. I was sitting on the steps there, having a smoke."
"Gone out? Gone out, is she? Aye, indeed, thin!" She settled back in her chair. "She must 've gone out to meet that Jawn of hers. To be sure! That 's it, to be sure. I thought 't was sick she was. How 're yeh standin' the heat yersilf?"
Her voice was transparently sly. He sat down on the window-sill, amused. "Not so bad. But this is hotter than Ireland, cook."
"Ireland?" She made an exaggerated gesture of despair. "Ireland!" She folded her hands in an eloquent resignation. "I was just dreamin' I was back to it. Aw, dear, dear! Will I niver ferget it?"
He laughed. He asked in a bantering tone: "Would you like to go back?"
"Me?" she cried sharply. "Sure, what fer? What's to go back to? Naw, naw. Whin yeh 're
