ay, when the Dawsons were coming to Damerstown and
we were all full of indignation against them, that she for her part was
delighted to hear of somebody who had money and that she for one would
welcome the Dawsons.

"I think money the one good and desirable thing of all the world," she
had said.

I remember that Sir Arthur, who was present, looked at her in some
surprise, and that she repeated the speech with greater emphasis and a
heightened colour. And afterwards my grandmother spoke of her with a
certain pitying tenderness, saying to Mary Champion that she was too
pretty and too young to be left so much to her own devices. I overheard
the speech by accident, being in the oriel of the library where long ago
I had heard my grandmother's speech to my grandfather concerning me. My
grandmother was fond of Lady Ardaragh and so was I.

I had taken Mickey, my foster-brother who is devoted to me, to hold the
pony when I should alight. Perhaps, also, out of fear that I might meet
with Richard Dawson, alone and unprotected.

When we drove up in front of the Ardaraghs' house the hall door stood
open. There was not a soul in sight; not even a friendly dog came down
the steps to greet us, though usually there were half a dozen of them.

I rang and knocked but no one came. It was five in the afternoon, and I
guessed that Lady Ardaragh might be out and the servants at tea
somewhere in the back premises.

However, I was not to be put off by an unanswered bell since the door
stood open. I knew my way about the house well, and was on terms of
sufficient intimacy to announce myself.

I guessed that the most likely place to find Lady Ardaragh would be the
little inner drawing-room of which she had made a boudoir, to which were
admitted only her favoured and intimate visitors.

I went through the house without meeting any one. There was not a sound.
Often at this hour Lady Ardaragh had the boy with her; but if he had
been there now I should have heard his shouts and laughter as I had
heard them before. However cold and strange she might be to her serious
husband Lady Ardaragh was a lovely mother, and she never looked to
greater advantage than when she was romping with her boy down on the
floor, her beautiful hair pulled about her, flushed, happy, smiling, as
I have seen her.

No, certainly the child was not there now. As I crossed the large
drawing-room I began to think there was no one there. The pale yellow
silk curtains that