As the man entered he took off his cap and with it covered his groin in the attitude of a man at prayer. He nodded at Catherine, whose first reaction was to notice how old he was, then she reached for her scarf.

“Hello, Miss,” he said in an unnaturally loud voice, as if he were standing out in the street. “Did you hear the corncrake this evening?”

But Catherine was shivering with rage and despair and staring at her sister.

“Say hallo, Catherine,” said Sara, and she looked at her sister, daring her. Near tears, Catherine, in an equally unnatural voice, whispered: “Hallo.”

“Now that you two have met,” said Sara tipsily, “I’ll have to go upstairs to see my Mammy.”

“Belmullet is one of the last parts of Ireland you’ll find the corncrake,” he explained.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” He paused. “Sadly. But what can I say that hasn’t been said before?” he said.

“Our Sara is causing concern.”

“Is she?”

“Have you a mother?”

“I always wanted a mother.”

He sat down.

“When I was young a little man came out of a chink in the ceiling. It was a ceiling like you have here. Old tongue-and-groove, painted cream, I think. He went along walking upside down. When I think of it I must have took him to be a pleasant fellow because I wasn’t in the least afraid. He came to another hole, looked around and went up and in.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“No.”

He considered the ceiling.

“And how is Sara getting on with the lessons?”

“Oh, she’ll make a dacent driver.”

“Is that so?”

“Inclined perhaps,” he nodded, “to wander.”

“Especially,” replied Catherine, “since she met you.”

“I’d say it’s in the breeding,” he answered cheerfully, and turned his foot.

“Would you.” She sniggered. “And where do you go with her?”

“We tour the nightspots of Mayo,” he said. “She said she was in need of a chaperone. A’course, I’m only a decoy. That’d be about it. I do the driving.” There was the sound of movement upstairs. He looked at her. “Will I go now?”

“Stop where you are,” she said sharply.

The man arose, tipped his forehead to Catherine.

“It was very pleasant meeting you.”

“Please stay.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, there’s something wrong.”

“Well then, I’ll go.”

He lifted the latch and stepped out into the night. Bright-eyed, as if she had been listening all the while on the stairs, Sara breezed into the kitchen, and dragged the heel of a loaf of bread, very ladylike, across the butter.

“Isn’t he a dote?” she said.

“He must be nearly thirty.”