I must see him
again, or write to him, to ask for his help, I think!

The Honourable Jim tore himself from Million's side about five minutes
later.

"Good-bye, Miss Million. I wish I could tell you how much it's meant to
me, meeting my old friend's niece in this way," purred the golden voice,
while the Honourable Jim held Million's little hand in his and gazed
down upon the enraptured face of her. One sees faces like that sometimes
outlining the gallery railing at a theatre, while below the orchestra
drawls out a phrase of some dreamy waltz and, on the stage, the matinee
hero turns his best profile to the audience and murmurs thrillingly:
"Little girl! Do you dream how different my life could be--with you?"

It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the Honourable Jim had made up
his mind to say something of the sort to Million, quite soon!

Of course, his life would be "different" if he had heaps of money.
Somehow I can't help feeling that, in spite of his clothes and the dash
he cuts, he hasn't a penny to his name.

"Good-bye. _A bientot_," he said to Million.

Oh, why did I ever bring her to the Cecil? As the door closed behind her
visitor Million breathed a heavy sigh and said, just as those
theatre-going girls say at the drop of a curtain: "Wasn't he lovely?"

Then she threw herself down on to the couch, which bounced. Something
fell from it on to the floor.

"There, if he hasn't left his walkin'-stick be'ind him!" exclaimed
Million, picking up a heavy ebony cane with a handsome gold top to it. I
realised that here was an excuse, hatched up by that conscienceless
young Celt, to return shortly.

Million didn't see that. She exclaimed: "Now I've got to run after him
with it, I s'pose----"

"No, you haven't, Miss Million. I will take it. It's the maid's place,"
I interposed. And quickly I took the cane and slipped out into the
corridor with it.

I caught up with the tall visitor just as he reached the lift.

"You left your cane in Miss Million's room, sir," I said to him in a
tone as stiff as that of a lady's-maid turned into a pillar of ice.

The big Irishman turned. But he did not put out his hand for the cane at
once.

He just said, "That's very kind of you," and smiled at me. Smiled with
all those bold blue eyes of his. Then he said in a voice lower and more
flattering even than he had used to the heiress herself: "I wanted a
word with you, Miss Lovelace, I think they call you. It's just this----"