boast about my Mr. Jones. The ugliest girl that ever came out may do
the same thing, and nobody ever thinks anything of it. A lover in the
clouds never does any harm, and now my lover is in the clouds. I know
that he has gone, and will never come to earth again. How much better
I love him because he would not take my offer. Then there would have
been a little contempt. And how could I expect him to yield to me in
everything, with this brute Moss insulting me at every turn? I do not
think he had the courage to send me that message, but still! What
could I do but tell Frank? And then what could Frank do but come? I
would have come, let any girl have bade me to stay away!" Here she
had imagined herself to be the lover, and not the girl who was loved.
"But it only shows that we are better apart. He cannot marry me, and
I cannot marry him. The Squire is at his wits' end with grief." By
"the Squire" Mr. Jones had been signified. "It is better as it is.
Father and the Squire ought never to have been brought together,--nor
ought I and Frank. I suppose I must tell them all at the theatre that
Mr. Jones belongs to me no longer. Only if I did so, they would think
that I was holding out a lure to Mahomet M. There's papa. I'll go
down and tell him all that need be told about it." So saying she
ascended to their sitting-room.

"Well, my dear, what did you do with Frank?"

"He has gone back to Ireland under the name of Mr. Jones."

"Then there was a quarrel?"

"Oh dear yes! there was safe to be a quarrel."

"Does it suit your book upon the whole?"

"Not in the least. You see before you the most wretched heroine that
ever appeared on the boards of any theatre. You may laugh, but it's
true. I don't know what I've got to say to Mr. Moss now. If he comes
forward in a proper manner, and can prove to me that Madame Socani
is not Madame Mahomet M. Moss, I don't know what I can do but accept
him. The Adriatic is free to wed another." Then she walked about the
room, laughing to prevent her tears.

"Did you hear anything about Castle Morony?"

"Not a word."

"Or the boy Florian?"

"Not a syllable;--though I was most anxious to ask the question. When
you are intent upon any matter, it does not do to go away to other
things. I should have never made him believe that he was to leave me
in earnest, had I allowed him to talk about Florian and the girls.
He has gone now. Well;--good-night, father. You and I, father, are
all in all to ea