1949 by Morgan Llywelyn Page A

think.”
    â€œI think so too, but I’m prejudiced.”
    â€œAs I recall, you’re a girl of strong prejudices.”
    Ursula was about to take offense until he laughed out loud. Then her own effervescent laughter bubbled up.
    â€œSsshhh!” hissed someone behind them.
    With an effort they controlled themselves. They dare not look at one another for fear of laughing again.
    When the performance ended Finbar invited Ursula to a café near the hall for hot chocolate. Remembering her aversion to smoking, he left his cigarettes in his pocket.
    She studied his face across the table. Beneath the fiery hair was a wholesome, open countenance, with warm brown eyes and blunted features, as if a finer face had been drawn and then partially rubbed out. Only his ears were distinctive. Instead of being rounded at the top they were almost pointed, like a faun’s.
    Finbar Cassidy was one of the plain people of Ireland. The native Gaels who had suffered conquest and humiliation and impoverishment until the mere fact of survival was a miracle. All that remained of an ancient race of warrior kings.
    Ursula opened the conversation with a classic Irish question. “Where are your people from, Mr. Cassidy?”
    â€œFinbar, please. My father’s fathers have fished the coasts of Donegal for generations. Before that they were farmers in Fermanagh until Cromwell drove them out and planted Protestant settlers on their land. My mother, God have mercy on her, was a MacMahon my father met at the fish market in Galway. She claimed descent from Brian Bóru, but sure, everyone in Ireland does that.”
    â€œHow do you know so much about them?”
    â€œOnce the sun sets, there’s not much for fishermen to do but mend their nets by the fire and tell stories. And what’s more interesting than stories about one’s own family?”
    Ursula took a sip of her chocolate. Dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Stories about one’s own family. Exploring the roots that go back…
    Finbar intruded on her reverie. “Suddenly you seem far away. What’re you thinking?”
    â€œNothing.”
    His quick grin flashed amid a blizzard of freckles. “I never met anyone less likely to be thinking nothing.”
    Young ladies at Surval were taught to respond gracefully to compliments from young men, but Ursula Halloran would never be comfortable with compliments. Sometimes she did not even recognize them. “Be assured that I am in the habit of saying what I mean, Mr. Cassidy,” she said tartly.
    His brown eyes begged forgiveness. “I do apologize, Miss Halloran. I have a talent for wrong-footing myself with you, it seems.” He reached for their handwritten bill. “I’ll pay this and then take you home, if you’ll allow me. Or is that something you would rather do for yourself too?”

Chapter Ten
    Louise Hamilton put her hands on her hips in disgust. “What good did learning them fine manners do you? You should have invited that young man into the parlor, Ursula, and him after bringing you in a taxi on such a cold evening. I made sticky toffee pudding earlier,” she said unnecessarily. The smell of burnt sugar lingered on the air. “You could have offered him some instead of slamming the door in his face.”
    â€œI did no such thing, Louise. I just didn’t ask him in.”
    â€œAnd why not? A nice young man with a pensionable job. It’s time you were thinking of your future, as Mr. Hamilton remarked just the other day.”
    â€œWhen I was a little girl,” said Ursula, “I dreamed I would marry Uncle Henry.”
    â€œThat’s all very well, since he’s not really related to you. But he’s taken so.”
    â€œHe is,” Ursula acknowledged tonelessly. “Henry is taken.”
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    According to the 1926 census the Free State had the highest proportion of unmarried people in Western Europe. More than 50 percent of