and ankle of an aristocrat. That little head of yours is beautifully shaped. And when you look backward over your shoulder you’re maddening — especially in twilight or moonlight. An elf maiden. A wood sprite. You belong to the woods, Moonlight — you should never be out of them. In spite of your ancestry, there is something wild and remote and untamed about you. And you have such a nice, sweet, throaty, summery voice. Such a nice voice for love-making.”

“Shure an’ ye’ve kissed the Blarney Stone,” scoffed Valancy. But she tasted these compliments for weeks.

She got a pale green bathing-suit, too — a garment which would have given her clan their deaths if they had ever seen her in it. Barney taught her how to swim. Sometimes she put her