zed that in Frank he had met one whom he had failed
either to bewilder or to charm.

"Madam!" he cried, saluting. "Mr. Francis Ravenel, delightful son of a
delightful mother! The top of the evening to both of ye." And with a
considered manner he made a stage exit, and Frank and Madam Ravenel
heard the gay voice--

"... most excellent Turk,
For I'm fond of tobacco and ladies--"

coming back with the clatter of a horse's hoofs through the fading
sunlight over the dew of the daisies.

"Well," said Mrs. Ravenel, her eyes dancing with merry light, "isn't he
delightful?"

"Delightful!" Frank repeated. "Is he? I wonder. Shrewd, cool-headed,
cruel, I think--subtle as well."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Ravenel interrupted, with a smile which might not have
been so mirthful had she seen at that moment the man of whom she spoke.

Near the north gate McDermott had brought his horse suddenly to a walk.
There was no longer gayety in his manner or his face. The merry light
had left his eyes, and in its place shone a gleam, steady and cold, as
only the eye of the intellectual Irish can be.

"And so that is the son! An unco man for the lassies, like his father
before him." His eyelids drew together as he spoke. "Handsome, too--with
a knowledge of life. It's a pity!" he said. "It's a pity! But he may not
interfere. If he does, well--even if he does, the gods are with the
Irish!"

II

THE MEETING IN THE WOODS

Instead of entering the drawing-room after Dermott's departure, Frank
turned with some abruptness toward Mrs. Ravenel.

"I am going for a walk, mother," he said, with no suggestion that she
accompany him; and her intimate acquaintance with Francis, sixth of the
name, made her understand with some accuracy the moods of his son,
Francis seventh.

"You are handsomer than ever, Frank!" she exclaimed, as if in answer to
the suggestion.

"You spoil me, mother," he returned, with a smile.

"Women have always done that--" she began.

"And you more than any other," Frank broke in, kissing her, with a
deference of manner singularly his own.

"There may be truth in that," Mrs. Ravenel admitted, a fine sense of
humor marked by the grudging tone in which she spoke. "I remember that
only yesterday I was in a rage because the roses were not further open
to welcome you home."

"Nature _is_ unappreciative," he returned; and the gray eyes with the
level lids looked into the blue ones with the level lids, and