"Ye've got to fight the divil wid fire," said Mary.
Diana made no reply. She sat sipping her tea, her expression one
of troubled sadness, but she was not thinking of those who would
take her property from her nor of their unfair methods. Mary
Donovan was moving about the room tidying up.
Diana set her empty cup upon the rickety center table which
supported an oil lamp, a bible, a red plush photograph album and a
gilded conch shell, and sighed. Mrs. Donovan glanced at her out of
the corner of her eye and guessed shrewdly that there was something
more than New Yorkers troubling her. Presently she came and stood
in front of the girl.
"What is it, mavourneen?" she asked. "Be after tellin' Mary
Donovan."
Diana rose, half turned her head away and bit her lower lip in
an effort to h
