d.

Captain Fitzgerald was still a gentleman, although a good many edges of
his sensitive perceptions had been rubbed off.

He kissed his daughter fondly while he murmured: "Merely a loan, my pet,
merely a loan. You were always a jewel to your old father!"

Whenever her parent accused himself of being "old," Theodora knew he was
deeply touched, and her tender heart overflowed with gladness that she
was able to smooth the path of such a darling papa.

"I will come and see you in the morning, my child," he said, as they
stopped at the door of her hotel, "and I will manage Josiah."

So Theodora crept up to her apartment, comforted; and in the salon it
was she caught sight of the _Peerage_.

Josiah Brown bought one every year and travelled with it, although until
he met the Fitzgerald family he had not known a single person connected
with it; but it pleased him to be able to look up his wife's name, and
to read that her mother was the daughter of a real live earl and her
father the brother of a baronet.

"Hector! I like the name of Hector," were the last coherent thoughts
which floated through the brain of Theodora before sleep closed her
broad, white lids.

Meanwhile, Lord Bracondale had gone on to sup at the Cafe de Paris, with
Marion de Beauvoison and Esclarmonde de Chartres; and among the diamonds
and pearls and scents and feathers he suddenly felt a burning disgust,
and a longing to be out again in the moonlight--alone with his thoughts.

"Mais qu'as tu, mon vieux chou?" they said. "Ce bel Hector cheri--il a
un beguin pour quelqu'un--mais ce n'est pas pour nous autres!"

III

Josiah Brown cut the top off his _oeuf a la coque_ with a knife at his
_premier dejeuner_ next day. The knife grated on the shell in a
determined way, and Theodora felt her heart sink at the prospect of
broaching the subject of the breakfast at the Cafe Henry.

"I am so glad the rain has stopped," she said, nervously. "It was
raining when I woke this morning."

"Indeed," replied Josiah. "And what kind of an evening did you pass with
that father of yours?"

"A very pleasant one," said Theodora, crumbling her roll. "Papa met some
old friends, and we all dined together at the Ritz. I wish you had been
able to come, it might have done you good, it was so gay!"

"I am not fit for gayety," said her husband, peevishly, scooping out
spoonfuls of yolk. "And who were the party, pray?"

Theodora obediently enumerated them all, and