Sir Felix living
over an express office!"

He handed her a bill, waited until John had fished up the change from
the trousers pocket, repeated, in an absent-minded way: "Sir Felix
living here! Good God! What next?" and, beckoning to the driver, stepped
inside the hansom and drove off.

Kitty looked at her husband, her color coming and going. "What did I
tell ye, John, dear? And ye wouldn't believe a word of it."

John returned Kitty's look. He, too, was trying to grasp the full
meaning of the announcement. "Are ye going to tell him ye know, Kitty?"
Neither of them had the slightest doubt of its truth.

"No, I ain't," she flashed back. "Not a word--nor nobody else. When Mr.
Felix O'Day gits ready to tell us, he will."

"Will ye tell Father Cruse?" he persisted.

"I don't know that I will. I'll have to think it over. And now, John,
remember!--not a word of this to any livin' soul. Do ye promise?"

"I do." He hesitated, another question struggling to his lips, and then
added: "What's up wid him, do ye think, Kitty?"

"I don't know, John, dear. I wish I did, but whatever it is, its
breakin' his heart."

Chapter XI

The discovery of her lodger's title made but little difference to
Kitty, nor did it raise him a whit in her estimation. At best, it only
confirmed her first impression of his being a gentleman--every inch of
him. She may have studied the more closely her lodger's habits, noting
his constant care of his person, the way in which he used his knife and
fork, the softness and cleanliness of his hands--all object-lessons to
her, for she broke out on her husband the day after her talk with the
Englishman in the hansom cab with:

"I want to tell ye that ye'll have to stop spatterin' yer soup around
after this, John, dear. I'm going to have a clean table-cloth on every
day, and a clean napkin for him, and as I'm doin' the washing myself
ye've got to help an' not muss things. First thing ye know he'll sour
on what we are giving him and be goin' off worse than ever, trampin' the
streets till all hours of the night." At which John had stretched
his big frame and with a prolonged yawn, his arms over his head, had
remarked: "All right, Kitty, you're boss. Sir or no sir, he's got no
frills about him--just plain man like the rest of us."

Neither would his title, had they known it, have made the slightest
difference to any one of the habitues who gathered in Tim Kelsey's
book-shop.

Who Felix was, or