somehow with her FAITH abruptly shaken. She had
believed and trusted, and she had been--she thought--entirely mistaken,
and it hurt her deeply.

Exactly why Peg should have arrived at such a condition--bordering as
it was on cynicism--was in one sense inexplicable, yet from another
point of view easily understood. That Jerry had not told her all about
himself when they first met, as she did about herself to him, did not
necessarily imply deceit on his part. Had she asked any member or
servant in the Chichester family who and what "Jerry" was they would
readily have told her. But that was contrary to Peg's nature. If she
liked anyone, she never asked questions about them. It suggested a
doubt, and doubt to Peg meant disloyalty in friendship and affection.
Everyone had referred to this young gentleman as "Jerry." He even
introduced himself by that unromantic and undignified name. No one
seemed to treat him with any particular deference, nor did anything in
his manner seem to demand it. She had imagined that anyone with a title
should not only be proud of it, but would naturally hasten to let
everyone they met become immediately aware whom they were addressing.

She vividly remembered her father pointing out to her a certain
north-of-Ireland barrister who--on the strength of securing more
convictions under the "Crimes Act" than any other jurist in the whole
of Ireland--was rewarded with the Royal and Governmental approval by
having conferred on him the distinction and dignity of knighthood. It
was the crowning-point of his career. It has steadily run through his
life since as a thin flame of scarlet. He lives and breathes
"knighthood." He thinks and speaks it. He DEMANDS recognition from his
equals, even as he COMPELS it from his inferiors. Her father told Peg
that all the servants were drilled carefully to call him--"Sir Edward."

His relations, unaccustomed through their drab lives to the usages of
the great, found extreme difficulty in acquiring the habit of using the
new appellation in the place of the nick-name of his youth--"Ted." It
was only when it was made a condition of being permitted an audience
with the gifted and honoured lawyer, that they allowed their lips to
meekly form the servile "Sir!" when addressing their distinguished
relation.

When he visited Dublin Castle to consult with his Chiefs, and any of
his old-time associates hailed him familiarly as "Ted!" a grieved look
would cross his semi-Scotch fe