ey from you to pay off the
ancestral debts?" asked Faraday.

"Not to borrow, Jack. Oh no, not to borrow--to get it for keeps--it, and
Genevieve with it. And I don't just see how I'm to prevent it. Gen don't
seem to care much, but the old lady's got it on her mind that she'd like
to have a lord in the family, no matter how high they come; and she can
work on Gen. Last summer she wanted to go after him--wanted to track him
to his lair; but I thought she might's well stop there, and put m' foot
down. Gen don't seem to care about him one way or the other, but then
'Lady Genevieve' sounds pretty nice----"

Here a rustle of millinery, approaching through the drawing-room beyond,
cut short old Ryan's confidences. Faraday stood up to receive the
ladies, who entered jubilant and unwearied from an afternoon's shopping.
Genevieve, a magnificent princess, with the air of fashion given by
perfectly setting clothes, much brown fur and velvet, a touch of yellow
lace, and a quantity of fresh violets pinned to her corsage, looked as
if she would make a very fine Lady Genevieve.

As soon as she heard the news she demanded the letter, and perused it
intently, Faraday covertly watching her. Raising her eyes, she met his
and said, with a little mocking air, "Well, Mr. Faraday, and what do you
think of that?"

"That your mother seems to have been right," said Faraday, steadily
eyeing her. An expression of chagrin and disappointment, rapid but
unmistakable, crossed her face, dimming its radiance like a breath on a
mirror. She gave a little toss to her head, and turning away toward an
adjacent looking-glass, took off her veil and settled her hat.

Mrs. Ryan watched her with glowing pride already seeing her in fancy a
member of the British aristocracy; but old Ryan looked rather downcast,
as he generally did when confronted by the triumphant gorgeousness of
the feminine members of his household. Faraday, too, experienced a
sudden depression of spirits so violent and so uncalled for that if he
had had room for any other feeling he would have been intensely
surprised. Barney Ryan, at the prospect of having to repair the breaches
in the Courtney exchequer and ancestral roof-tree, may have experienced
a pardonable dejection. But why should Faraday, who assured himself a
dozen times a day that he merely admired Miss. Genevieve, as any man
might admire a charming and handsome girl, feel so desperate a
despondency?

To prove to himself that his