e Angel. The opening of the door created a
current that swayed a curtain aside, and in an adjoining room, lounging
in a big chair, with a paper in his hand, sat a man who was, beyond
question, of Freckles' blood and race.

With perfect control the Angel dropped Lord O'More's card in the tray,
stepped past his servant, and stood before his lordship.

"Good morning," she said with tense politeness.

Lord O'More said nothing. He carelessly glanced her over with amused
curiosity, until her color began to deepen and her blood to run hotly.

"Well, my dear," he said at last, "how can I serve you?"

Instantly the Angel became indignant. She had been so shielded in the
midst of almost entire freedom, owing to the circumstances of her life,
that the words and the look appeared to her as almost insulting. She
lifted her head with a proud gesture.

"I am not your 'dear,'" she said with slow distinctness. "There isn't a
thing in the world you can do for me. I came here to see if I could do
something--a very great something--for you; but if I don't like you, I
won't do it!"

Then Lord O'More did stare. Suddenly he broke into a ringing laugh.
Without a change of attitude or expression, the Angel stood looking
steadily at him.

There was a silken rustle, then a beautiful woman with cheeks of satiny
pink, dark hair, and eyes of pure Irish blue, moved to Lord O'More's
side, and catching his arm, shook him impatiently.

"Terence! Have you lost your senses?" she cried. "Didn't you understand
what the child said? Look at her face! See what she has!"

Lord O'More opened his eyes widely and sat up. He did look at the
Angel's face intently, and suddenly found it so good that it was
difficult to follow the next injunction. He arose instantly.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "The fact is, I am leaving Chicago sorely
disappointed. It makes me bitter and reckless. I thought you one more of
those queer, useless people who have thrust themselves on me constantly,
and I was careless. Forgive me, and tell me why you came."

"I will if I like you," said the Angel stoutly, "and if I don't, I
won't!"

"But I began all wrong, and now I don't know how to make you like me,"
said his lordship, with sincere penitence in his tone.

The Angel found herself yielding to his voice. He spoke in a soft,
mellow, smoothly flowing Irish tone, and although his speech was
perfectly correct, it was so rounded, and accented, and the sentences so
turned, th