another quite
unnecessary twist to her gown.

"That obstacle is then removed?"

"Mr. Jones is removed, and has gone to Ireland." Then Mr. Moss sighed
deeply. "I can manage my singing very well without Mr.--Jones."

"Not a doubt. Not a doubt. And I have heard that you have made an
engagement in all respects beneficial with M. Le Gros, of Covent
Garden. M. Le Gros is a gentleman for whom I have a most profound
respect."

"So have I."

"Had I been at your elbow, it is possible that something better might
have been done; but two months;--they run by--oh, so quickly!"

"Quite so. If I can do any good I shall quickly get another
engagement."

"You will no doubt do a great deal of good. But Mr. Jones is now at
an end."

"Mr. Jones is at an end," said Rachel, with another blow at her gown.
"A singing girl like me does better without a lover,--especially if
she has got a father to look after her."

"That's as may be," said Mr. O'Mahony.

"That's as may be," said Mr. Moss, again laying his hand upon his
heart. The tone in which Mr. Moss repeated Mr. O'Mahony's words was
indicative of the feeling and poetry within him. "If you had a lover
such as is your faithful Moss," the words seemed to say, "no father
could look after you half so well."

"I believe I could do very well with no one to look after me."

"Of course you and I have misunderstood each other hitherto."

"Not at all," said Rachel.

"I was unaware at first that Mr. Jones was an absolute reality. You
must excuse me, but the name misled me."

"Why shouldn't a girl be engaged to a man named Jones? Jones is as
good a name as Moss, at any rate; and a deal more--" She had been
going to remark that Jones was the more Christian of the two, but
stopped herself.

"At any rate you are now free?" he said.

"No, I am not. Yes, I am. I am free, and I mean to remain so. Why
don't you tell him, father?"

"I have got nothing to tell him, my dear. You are so much better able
to tell him everything yourself."

"If you would only listen to me, Miss O'Mahony."

"You had better listen to him, Rachel."

"Very well; I will listen. Now go on." Then she again thumped
herself. And she had thumped her hair, and thumped herself all round
till she was as limp and dowdy as the elder sister of a Low Church
clergyman of forty.

"I wish you to believe, Miss O'Mahony, that my attachment to you is
most devoted." She pursed her lips together and looked straight out
of her ey