olded him, "with your--your
stories of knowing her uncle, and all that. And now you're----"

"Well, what are my other crimes?"

I took breath and said: "You're asking her out for drives in that coach
of yours----"

"Would to Heaven it were my coach," sighed Lord Ballyneck's youngest
son. "It belongs to my good pal Leo Rosencranz, that turn-out! I am
merely----"

"What I want to know is," I broke in very severely, "where is all this
going to lead to?"

He took the wafer off his ice before replying. Then he said very mildly:
"Brighton, I thought."

Isn't an Irishman the most hopeless sort of person to whom to try to
talk sense? Particularly angry sense!

"I don't mean the coach-drive," I said crossly. "You knew that, Mr.
Burke. I mean your acquaintance with my employer. Where is that going to
lead to?"

"I hope it's going to lead to mutual benefits," announced the Honourable
Jim briskly. "Now, since you're asking me my intentions like this, I'll
tell them to you. I've never before had the knife laid to my throat like
this, and by a bit of a chestnut-haired girl, too! Well, I intend to see
a good deal of Miss Million. I shall introduce to her a lot of people
who'll be useful, one way and another. Haven't I sent two friends of
mine to call on her this afternoon?"

"Have you?" I said.

So that was the reason Million insisted on my taking the afternoon off!
She didn't intend me to see his friends! I wondered who they were.

Mr. Burke went on: "Between ourselves, I intend to be a sort of Cook's
guide through life to your young friend--your employer, Miss Million. A
young woman in her position simply can't do without some philanthropist
to show her the ropes. Perhaps she began by thinking you might be able
to do that, Miss--Smith?" he laughed softly. He said: "But I shall soon
have her turning to me for guidance as naturally as a needle turns to
the north. I tell you I'm the very man to help a forlorn orphan who
doesn't know what to do with a fortune. Money, by Ishtar! How well I
know where to take it! Pity I never have a stiver of my own to do it
with!"

"You haven't?" I said.

"Child, I'm a pauper," he replied. "The descendant of Irish kings; need
I say more? There's not a page-boy at the Cecil who hasn't more ordinary
comforts in his home than I have. My father's the poorest peer in
Ireland. My brother's the poorest eldest son; and I--I tell you I can't
afford to spend a week at Ballyneck; the damp in t