triking.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ANNE MAKES HISTORY.

In the months that followed Anne Dillon lived as near to perfect
felicity as earthly conditions permit. A countess and a lord breathed
under her roof, ate at her table, and talked prose and poetry with her
as freely as Judy Haskell. The Countess of Skibbereen and Lord
Constantine had accompanied the Ledwiths to America, after Owen's
liberation from jail, and fallen victims to the wiles of this clever
woman. Arthur might look after the insignificant Ledwiths. Anne would
have none of them. She belonged henceforth to the nobility. His lordship
was bent on utilizing his popularity with the Irish to further the cause
of the Anglo-American Alliance. As the friend who had stood by the
Fenian prisoners, not only against embittered England, but against
indifferent Livingstone, he was welcomed; and if he wanted an alliance,
or an heiress, or the freedom of the city, or anything which the Irish
could buy for him, he had only to ask in order to receive. Anne sweetly
took the responsibility off his shoulders, after he had outlined his
plans.

"Leave it all to me," said she. "You shall win the support of all these
people without turning your hand over."

"You may be sure she'll do it much better than you will," was the
opinion of the Countess, and the young man was of the same mind.

She relied chiefly on Doyle Grahame for one part of her program, but
that effervescent youth had fallen into a state of discouragement which
threatened to leave him quite useless. He shook his head to her demand
for a column in next morning's _Herald_.

"Same old story ... the Countess and you ... lovely costumes ... visits
... it won't go. The editors are wondering why there's so much of you."

"Hasn't it all been good?"

"Of course, or it would not have been printed. But there must come an
end sometime. What's your aim anyway?"

"I want a share in making history," she said slyly.

"Take a share in making mine," he answered morosely, and thereupon she
landed him.

"Oh, run away with Mona, if you're thinking of marrying."

"Thinking of it! Talking of it! That's as near as I can get to it," he
groaned. "John Everard is going to drive a desperate bargain with me. I
wrote a book, I helped to expose Edith Conyngham, I drove Fritters out
of the country with my ridicule, I shocked Bradford, and silenced
McMeeter; and I have failed to move that wretch. All I got out of my
labors was permissi