mbered
properties, the doom of those who had mortgages to pay had been sounded.
Milord executed his task with consummate ability; and when the _grand
parti_ entered the drawing-room, his thoughts were racked with horrible
forebodings. The domain woods, the pride of centuries, he saw plundered
and cut down; lawns, pleasure-grounds, and gardens distributed among
peasants, and he, a miserable outcast, starving in a Belgian
boarding-house. Mrs. Barton's eyes brightened at the distressed
expression of his face. Olive brought in the buttonhole and went to the
piano; Milord engaged Alice's attention; and the Marquis was led into
the adjoining room.

'The season is now drawing to its close,' Mrs. Barton said; 'we shall be
soon returning to Galway. We shall be separating. I know Olive likes
you, but if there is no--if it is not to be, I should like to tell her
not to think about it any more.'

The Marquis felt the earth gliding. What could have tempted the woman to
speak like this to him? What answer was he to make her? He struggled
with words and thoughts that gave way, as he strove to formulate a
sentence, like water beneath the arms of one drowning.

'Oh, really, Mrs. Barton,' he said, stammering, speaking like one in a
dream, 'you take me by surprise. I did not expect this; you certainly
are too kind. In proposing this marriage to me, you do me an honour I
did not anticipate, but you know it is difficult offhand, for I am bound
to say . . . at least I am not prepared to say that I am in love with your
daughter. . . . She is, of course, very beautiful, and no one admires her
more than I, but--'

'Olive will have twenty thousand pounds paid down on her wedding-day;
not promised, you know, but paid down; and in the present times I think
this is more than most girls can say. Most Irish properties are
embarrassed, mortgaged,' she continued, risking everything to gain
everything, 'and twenty thousand pounds would be a material help to most
men. At my death she will have more; I--'

'Oh, Mrs. Barton, do not let us speak of that!' cried the little man.

'And why not? Does it prove that because we are practical, we do not
care for a person? I quite understand that it would be impossible for
you to marry without money, and that Olive will have twenty thousand
paid down on her wedding-day will not prevent you from being very fond
of her. On the contrary, I should think--'

'Twenty thousand pounds is, of course, a great deal of