“T-there’s not much to tell,” I said, trying not to look at him. “I had a twin brother who died, but no sisters.”

I rushed on, anxious to be finished. “My da is a farmer, and my ma keeps the house. I-I was shy in school but had a nice teacher who brought me books. A-and I wanted to come to America for the adventure of it.”

I stopped talking and tried to control the trembling in my hands. He looked at me for a long time, as if measuring what I had just said. I felt sure he knew that some of it was lies. I steeled myself, ready for the accusation. Instead, he laughed aloud.

“You are not one for long speeches, are you, Miss Sweeney? I wish some of the long-winded politicians I was in the company of tonight could have heard you. They might have learned something.”

I was nervous under his scrutiny. I smoothed out my dress and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I wasn’t used to people staring at me unless they were making fun of my stutter. Men like him would never have given me a second look. But he seemed to be appraising me, almost like a potential suitor. I chased the thought away. You’re nothing but an eejit, Delia.

At last he spoke again, his tone gentle.

“Forgive me, Miss Sweeney. It did not occur to me until just now that you are sensitive about your stutter. I should not have made fun of you.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers intertwined like a steeple. “I’ve noticed it does not affect you when you speak about Lily.”

I didn’t reply.

“I also notice that you do not have a particularly Irish accent; more English than Irish, I would say. My dear wife, Mary, had a brogue you could cut with a knife, as she often said herself.”

I allowed myself a smile. I was back on firmer ground. “I’ve been told that often, sir,” I said. “I put it down to my teacher—the one who gave me the books. She was from the gentry and had no trace of a brogue at all. I suppose some of it rubbed off on me. A-and, besides, I lived in a very quiet house. Nobody in my family spoke much.”