whole table! She
hated him; she knew she hated him!

"I don't understand," said Madigan, feeling called upon to say
something that was not vituperative at his own dinner-table. "You could
never have seen a note of Sissy's, Mr. Morgan?"

"Never." The savior lied like a gentleman.

But he was mistaken if he supposed that he had placated Cecilia. She
would not even meet his eyes, those eyes that twinkled so enjoyingly.

The savior tried Irene.

"You and I have hair the same color," he said genially. "I hope your
temper isn't like mine, too."

"I hope not," she answered stiffly.

He laughed again, that big, amused laugh. Split's eyes shot fire.
Evidently the Madigans were funnier than they knew.

"Now, I wonder," he said, "would that be a compliment or a confession?"

"Irene is trying and succeeding better every day in gaining
self-control," interposed Aunt Anne, with hasty amiability. To discuss
Irene's temper in committee of the whole, like that--the temerity of the
man! "Won't you have some more mutton?" she pressed. "It's wash-day, you
know, and it's just a pick-up dinner; but we're so glad to have you, if
you'll excuse--"

"The apology's due from me, you know," he interrupted. "And the good
fortune's mine, too. Fancy me dining the evening of my arrival at that
brick barn they call the hotel down yonder! It will be hard enough when
I really have to live there."

"You do not surely expect--" began Madigan, pausing over his
strawberries.

"To live 'out West'? Will you let me tell you how it happened, Mr.
Madigan? There isn't much to it--just this: Miles Madigan, as you
know--do you know?--was not the man to leave much behind him. Not that
he'd deliberately wrong a fellow, poor old chap, but--well--oh, you
understand! Well, when his solicitors got through subtracting and
dividing and subdividing, the heir--one Miles Morgan, bred to do
nothing, and with a talent for that profession, I must admit--found
himself poor, with just enough to live on. The ten thousand a year
had--just slipped through Miles Madigan's fingers."

"Oh!" Miss Madigan's voice was sympathizing, disappointed.

"Then"--it was Frank's clear treble; she hadn't understood much, but she
knew what "poor" meant: a Madigan learned that early--"then you're not
going to mawwy Kate?"

Kate went white, while Miss Madigan's delicate face flushed purple, and
Split pinched Sissy's arm, in her excitement, till that young woman
cried aloud.

"France