omising future. They went through the ceremony of felicitation and
congratulation, chatted for a while, and then took their leave as calmly
and properly as the dames and gallants of a court; and one and all bowed
to the earth with moist and delighted eyes before the Everards.

"How like a queen she looks," they said of the mother.

"The blessin' o' God on him," they said of Louis, "for priest is written
all over him, an' how could he help it wid such a mother."

"She's fit for a king," they said of Mona. "Wirra, an' to think she'd
look at a plain man like Doyle Grahame."

But of Anne Dillon and her son they said nothing, so much were they
overcome by surprise at the splendor of the mother and the son, and the
beauty of the old house made over new. After dark the Senator arrived,
which was the signal for a change in the character of the guests.

"You'll get the aristocracy now, the high Irish," said Louis.

Arthur recognized it by its airs, its superciliousness, and several
other bad qualities. It was a budding aristocracy at the ugliest moment
of its development; city officials and their families, lawyers,
merchants, physicians, journalists, clever and green and bibulous, who
ran in with a grin and ran out with a witticism, out of respect for the
chief, and who were abashed and surprised at the superior insolence of
the returned Dillon. Reminded of the story that he had returned a
wealthy man, many of them lingered. With these visitors however came the
pillars of Irish society, solid men and dignified women, whom the
Senator introduced as they passed. There were three emphatic moments
which impressed Arthur Dillon. A hush fell upon the chattering crowd one
instant, and people made way for Monsignor O'Donnell, who looked very
gorgeous to Arthur in his purple-trimmed soutane, and purple cloak
falling over his broad shoulders. The politicians bent low, the flippant
grew serious, the faithful few became reverent. A successful leader was
passing, and they struggled to touch his garments. Arthur's heart
swelled at the silent tribute, for he loved this man.

"His little finger," said the Senator in a whisper, "is worth more to
them than my whole body."

A second time this wave of feeling invaded the crowd, when a
strong-faced, quiet-mannered man entered the room, and paid his respects
to the Dillons. Again the lane was made, and hearts fluttered and many
hands were outstretched in greeting to the political leader, Hon.