get to know him, Million. But I don't. For
one thing, I heard him making inquiries about you as we went through
this afternoon. I heard him tell the hall porter to find out if you had
anything to do with Mr. Million, of Chicago!"

"Very natural kind of remark to pass," said little Million. "Seeing new
people come in, and knowing uncle's name. It's because of uncle, you
see, that he wants to make friends."

"Because of uncle's money!" I blurted out rather brutally.

"Oh, Miss--oh, Smith!" protested Million, all reproachful eyes. "What
would he want with more money, a young gentleman like that? He's got no
end of his own."

"How do you know?"

"But--w'y! Look at him!" cried Million. "Look at his clothes! Look at
that lovely coach an' those horses----"

"Very likely not his own," I said, shaking my head at her. "My dear
Million--for goodness' sake remind me to practise calling you 'Miss';
I'm always reminding you to practise not calling me it! My dear Miss
Million, I feel in all my bones one sad presentiment. That young man is
a fortune-hunter. I saw it in his bold and sea-blue eye. As it says in
the advertisement, 'It's your money he wants.' I believe he's the sort
of person who makes up to any one with money. (I expect all those other
men he was with were rich enough.) And I don't think you ought to make
friends with this Mr. Burke until we've heard a little more about him.
Certainly I don't think you ought to let him come and see you here
without further preliminaries to-morrow afternoon!"

"What am I goin' to do about it, then?" asked Million in a small voice.

Her mouth drooped. Her grey eyes gazed anxiously at me, to whom she now
turns as her only guide, philosopher, and friend. She was evidently
amazed that I didn't share her impressions of this "lovely" young
"Honourable." She had wanted to see him "close to"--a fearful joy! She
had meant to dress up in her grandest new finery for the occasion. And
now she was woefully disappointed.

Poor little soul!

Yes; evidently her eyes had already been dazzled by that vision
this morning outside the Cecil; that gay picture that had looked
likesome brightly coloured smoking-room print. The brilliant,
lemon-yellow-and-black coach, the postilion behind, the spanking white
horses, the handsome, big, ruddy-faced young sportsman who was
driving....

But it was my duty to see that only her eyes were caught. Not her
heart--as it probably would be if she saw much m