ther these ladies would have accorded to a divine of
their own persuasion the same degree of favour and attention that they
now bestowed on Monsignore Clifford. Perhaps his manner in discussing
certain belongings of his Church was more entertaining; perhaps, too--we
hint it with deference--that there was something like a forbidden
pleasure in thus trespassing into the domain of Rome. His light and
playful style was, however, a fascination amply sufficient to account
for the interest he excited. If he dwelt but passingly on the dogmas of
his Church, he was eloquently diffuse on its millinery. Copes, stoles,
and vestments he revelled in; and there was a picturesque splendour in
his description of ceremonial that left the best-"effects" of the opera
far behind. How gloriously, too, did he expatiate on the beauty of the
Madonna, the costliness of her gems, and the brilliancy of her diadem!
How incidentally did he display a rapturous veneration for loveliness,
and a very pretty taste in dress! In a word, as they both confessed, "he
was charming.'' There was a downy softness in his enthusiasm, a sense
of repose even in his very insistence, peculiarly pleasant to those who
like to have their sensations, like their perfumes, as weak and as faint
as possible.

"There is a tact and delicacy about these men from which our people
might take a lesson," said Lady Lackington, as the door closed after
him.

"Very true," sighed Lady Grace; "ours are really dreadful."

CHAPTER III. A FATHER AND A DAUGHTER.

A DREARY evening late in October, a cold thin rain falling, and a
low wailing wind sighing through the headless branches of the trees in
Merrion Square, made Dublin seem as sad-looking and deserted as need be.
The principal inhabitants had not yet returned to their homes for
the winter, and the houses wore that melancholy look of vacancy and
desertion so strikingly depressing. One sound alone woke the echoes
in that silence; it was a loud knocking at the door of a large and
pretentious mansion in the middle of the north side of the square. Two
persons had been standing at the door for a considerable time, and by
every effort of knocker and bell endeavoring to obtain admittance. One
of these was a tall, erect man of about fifty, whose appearance but too
plainly indicated that most painful of all struggles between poverty and
a certain pretension. White-seamed and threadbare as was his coat,
he wore it buttoned to the top with