xpatiating, inquiring with a
most minute particularity concerning his health and habits, and, in
a word, conducting herself in all respects, to use her own expressive
phrase, 'as if they were thick since they were babies.'

Armed with this precious document, formally signed and sealed by both
parties, O'Grady took his leave of Mrs. Rooney--not, indeed, in his
usual free-and-easy manner, but with the respectful and decorous reserve
of one addressing a favourite near the throne. Nothing could be more
perfect than Phil's profound obeisance, except perhaps the queenly
demeanour of Mrs. Rooney herself; for, with the ready tact of a woman,
she caught up in a moment the altered phase of her position, and in the
reflective light of O'Grady's manner she learned to appreciate her own
brilliancy.

'From this day forward,' muttered O'Grady, as he closed the door behind
him and hurried downstairs--'from this day forward she 'll be greater
than ever. Heaven help the lady mayoress that ventures to shake hands
with her, and the attorney's wife will be a bold woman that asks her to
a tea-party henceforth!'

With these words he threw himself upon his horse and cantered off
towards the park to inform the duke that all was happily concluded, and
amuse him with a sight of the great Rooney treaty, which he well knew
would throw the viceroy into convulsions of laughter.

CHAPTER XII. A WAGER

In a few weeks after the events I have mentioned, the duke left Ireland
to resume his parliamentary duties in the House of Lords, where some
measure of considerable importance was at that time under discussion.
Into the hands of the lords justices, therefore, the government _ad
interim_ was delivered; while upon Mrs. Paul Rooney devolved the more
pleasing task of becoming the leader of fashion, the head and fountain
of all the gaieties and amusements of the capital. Indeed, O'Grady
half hinted that his grace relied upon her to supply his loss, which
manifestation of his esteem, so perfectly in accordance with her own
wishes, she did not long hesitate to profit by.

Had a stranger, on his first arrival in Dublin, passed along that part
of Stephen's Green in which the 'Hotel Rooney,' as it was familiarly
called, was situated, he could not have avoided being struck, not only
with the appearance of the house itself, but with that of the strange
and incongruous assembly of all ranks and conditions of men that lounged
about its door. The house, la