"Think of what you have to offer the woman you love! Most
men come to us soiled, with fingerprints on them which the most
forgiving wife can never seem to wash quite away. But you--you are as
clean as your mother left you.--Look at me, Philip! Yes, I knew it.--And
what a home you will make for her! Money never made a home yet--it
spoils more homes than it helps, I think, because it does away with the
effort that makes anything worth while.--Oh, my dear boy, I think I
shall be envious of the girl you marry!"

The voice speaking was the one she had kept, as she once told
Jacqueline, to sing lullabies to her babies with--surely the most
exquisite, tender, caressing voice in the world, thought Philip. He
tried to listen to what she was saying, but heard only the voice. His
senses were swimming in it. Suddenly he leant over and laid his cheek
against her rough riding-skirt.

"Why, dearest boy!" The voice softened still more, and he felt her hands
in his hair. "Did you think you could hide anything from _me_? What a
goose! Don't you suppose I saw? I have been wondering for days why you
didn't tell me. And then I knew. The money--is that, it? But how
perfectly silly, dear! There's enough and more than enough for two, but
if you prefer it, your bride shall come to you as poor as any
churchmouse, glad and proud to do with whatever you are able to give
her. We don't care much for--just _things_, we Kildares!"

He raised his face, incredulous, listening at last to her words; a
dawning rapture in his eyes. She had seen. Was she offering herself to
him, Philip, as a goddess might lean to a mortal? He could not speak....

"And then I've thought," she went on, "that perhaps the thing between
your two fathers was holding you back. Don't let it, ah, don't let it!
Before that all happened, they were friends, dear friends. Your father
was the one man Basil loved. And some day when we are all together
somewhere, afterwards--if there is an afterwards!--I believe they will
be friends again. It was all a hideous mistake. Surely mistakes can't
last through eternity? That is my idea of what Heaven is; a place where
we shall understand each other's mistakes, and forgive them. But you and
Jacqueline--oh, Philip! Philip! try not to make any mistakes, you two! I
couldn't bear that."

Philip was himself now, hearing every word. He whispered haltingly,
praying that he had misunderstood, "What--was it you thought I--wished
to say to you?"

She