the moment.

"People with ideas, strange weird ideas," Louis made answer. "Oh,
perfectly sane, of course, but so devoted to each other, and the cause
of Ireland, that they can get along with none, and few can get along
with them. That's why Pop thinks so much of 'em. They are forever
running about the world, deep in conspiracies for freedom, and so on,
but they never get anywhere to stay. Outside of that they're the
loveliest souls the sun ever shone on, and I adore Honora."

"And if Mona takes to His Lordship," said Grahame, "I'll worship Miss
Ledwith."

"Very confusing," Arthur muttered. "English noble,--alliance between two
countries--cultivates Irish--wants to marry Irish girl--conspirators and
all that--why, there's no head or tail to the thing."

"Well, you keep your eye on Honora Ledwith and me, and you'll get the
key. She's the sun of the system. And, by the way, don't you remember
old Ledwith, the red-hot lecturer on the woes of Ireland? Didn't you
play on her doorstep in Madison street, and treat her to Washington
pie?"

When the party arrived next day Arthur saw a handsome, vigorous, blond
young man, hearty in his manner, and hesitating in his speech, whom he
forgot directly in his surprise over the Ledwiths; for he recognized in
them the father and daughter whom he had observed in so passionate a
scene in the cathedral on St. Patrick's Day. He had their history by
heart, the father being a journalist and the daughter a singer; they had
traveled half the world; and while every one loved them none favored
their roseate schemes for the freedom of Ireland. Perhaps this had made
them peculiar. At the first glance one would have detected oddity as
well as distinction in them. Tall, lean, vivacious, Owen Ledwith moved
about restlessly, talked much, and with considerable temper. The
daughter sat placid and watchful, quite used to playing audience to his
entertainments; though her eyes never seemed to look at him, Arthur saw
that she missed none of his movements, never failed to catch his words
and to smile her approval. The whiteness of her face was like cream, and
her dark blue eyes were pencilled by lashes so black that at the first
glance they seemed of a lighter shade. Impressed to a degree by what at
that instant could not be put into words, he named her in his own mind
the White Lady. No trace of disdain spoiled her lofty manner, yet he
thought she looked at people as if they were minor instruments in her