good-bye." So saying, she retired, leaving him standing there in her
sitting-room.

He remained for awhile meditating on his position, till he began to
think that it would be useless for him to remain there. She certainly
would not come down; and he, though he were to wait for her father's
return, would get no more favourable reply from him. He, as he had
promised, would certainly "back up" his daughter in all that she had
said. As he went down out of the room with that feeling of insult
which clings to a man when he has been forced to quit a house without
any farewell ceremony, he certainly did feel that he had been
ill-used. But he could not but acknowledge that she was justified.
There was a certain imperiousness about her which wounded his
feelings as a man. He ought to have been allowed to be dominant. But
then he knew that he could not live upon her income. His father would
not speak to him had he gone back to Morony Castle expressing his
intention of doing so.

CHAPTER XVIII.

FRANK JONES HAS CEASED TO EXIST.

To tell the truth, Rachel had a thorough good cry before she went to
bed that night. Though there was something hard, fixed, imperious,
almost manlike about her manner, still she was as soft-hearted as
any other girl. We may best describe her by saying that she was an
American and an actress. It was impossible to doubt her. No one
who had once known her could believe her to be other than she had
declared herself. She was loyal, affectionate, and dutiful. But there
was missing to her a feminine weakness, which of all her gifts is
the most valuable to an English woman, till she makes the mistake of
bartering it away for women's rights. We can imagine, however, that
the stanchest woman's-right lady should cry for her lost lover. And
Rachel O'Mahony cried bitterly for hers. "It had to be done," she
said, jumping up at last in her bedroom, and clenching her fist as
she walked about the chamber. "It had to be done. A girl situated as
I am cannot look too close after herself. Father is more like my son
than my father; he has no idea that I want anything done for me. Nor
do I want much," she said, as she went on rapidly taking the short
course of the room. "No one could say a word about me till I brought
my lover forward and showed him to the theatre. I think they did
believe him to be a myth; but a myth in that direction does no harm
till he appears in the flesh. They think that I have made an empty