ered, uncle, to hear that I am easier to win than a seat in
Parliament.'

'That does not imply you are not worth a great deal more,' said Kearney,
with an air of gallantry. 'I know if I was a young fellow which I'd strive
most for. Eh, Mr. Daniel? I see you agree with me.'

Donogan's face, slightly flushed before, became now crimson as he sipped
his tea in confusion, unable to utter a word.

'And so,' resumed Kearney, 'he'll only give us a day to make up our minds!
It's lucky, girls, that you have the telegram there to tell you what's
coming.'

'It would have been more piquant, papa, if he had made his message say, "I
propose for Nina. Reply by wire."'

'Or, "May I marry your daughter?" chimed in Nina quickly.

'There it is, now,' broke in Kearney, laughing, 'you're fighting for him
already! Take my word for it, Mr. Daniel, there's no so sure way to get a
girl for a wife, as to make her believe there's another only waiting to be
asked. It's the threat of the opposition coach on the road keeps down the
fares.'

'Papa is all wrong,' said Kate. 'There is no such conceivable pleasure as
saying No to a man that another woman is ready to accept. It is about the
most refined sort of self-flattery imaginable.'

'Not to say that men are utterly ignorant of that freemasonry among women
which gives us all an interest in the man who marries one of us,' said
Nina. 'It is only your confirmed old bachelor that we all agree in
detesting.'

''Faith, I give you up altogether. You're a puzzle clean beyond me,' said
Kearney, with a sigh.

'I think it is Balzac tells us,' said Donogan, 'that women and politics are
the only two exciting pursuits in life, for you never can tell where either
of them will lead you.'

'And who is Balzac?' asked Kearney.

'Oh, uncle, don't let me hear you ask who is the greatest novelist that
ever lived.'

''Faith, my dear, except _Tristram Shandy_ and _Tom Jones_, and maybe
_Robinson Crusoe_--if that be a novel--my experience goes a short way. When
I am not reading what's useful--as in the _Farmer's Chronicle_ or Purcell's
"Rotation of Crops"--I like the "Accidents" in the newspapers, where they
give you the name of the gentleman that was smashed in the train, and tell
you how his wife was within ten days of her third confinement; how it was
only last week he got a step as a clerk in Somerset House. Haven't you more
materials for a sensation novel there than any of your three-volume fellows
will