"Only in Ireland, Loo,--only in Ireland."

"Nay, papa, in Ireland they do the full twenty," said she, laughing.

"But what has brought Ludlow here? He has certainly not come without a motive."

"To use some coercion over you, I suspect."

"Probably enough. Those weary letters,--those weary letters!" sighed she. "Oh, papa dear,--you who were always a man of a clear head and a subtle brain,--how did you fall into the silly mistake of having your daughter taught to write? Our nursery-books are crammed with cautious injunctions,--'Don't play with fire,' &c,--and of the real peril of all perils not a word of warning is uttered, and nobody says, 'Avoid the inkstand.'"

"How could you have fallen into such a blunder?" said he, half peevishly.

"I gave rash pledges, papa, just as a bankrupt gives bad bills. I never believed I was to be solvent again."

"We must see what can be done, Loo. I know he is very hard up for money just now; so that probably a few hundreds might do the business."

She shook her head doubtingly, but said nothing.

"A fellow-traveller of mine, unacquainted with him personally, told me that his bills were seen everywhere about town."

"Who is your companion?"

"An Irishman called O'Shea."

"And is the O'Shea here too?" exclaimed she, laughingly.

"Yes; since he has lost his seat in the House, England has become too hot for him. And, besides," added he, slyly, "he has told me ill confidence that if 'the party,' as he calls them, should not give him something, he knows of a widow somewhere near this might suit him. 'I don't say that she's rich, mind you,' said he, 'but she's 'cute as a fox, and would be sure to keep a man's head above water somehow.'"

Mrs. Morris held her handkerchief to her mouth, but the sense of the ridiculous could not be suppressed, and she laughed out.

"What would I not have given to have heard him, papa!" said she, at last

"Well, it really _was_ good," said he, wiping his eyes; for he, too, had indulged in a very hearty laugh, particularly when he narrated all the pains O'Shea had been at to discover who Penthony Morris was, where he came from, and what fortune he had. "'It was at first all in vain,' said he, 'but no sooner did I begin to pay fellows to make searches for me, than I had two, or maybe three Penthony Morrises every morning by the post; and, what's worse, all alive and hearty!'"

"What did he do under these distressing circumstances?" asked she, gayly.

"He said he 'd give up the search entirely. 'There 's no such bad hunting country,' said he, 'as where there's too many foxes, and so I determined I 'd have no more Penthony Morrises, but just go in for the widow without any more inquiry.'"

"And have you heard the plan of his campaign?" asked she.

"He has none,--at least, I think not. He trusts to his own attractions and some encouragement formerly held out to him."

"Indiscreet wretch!" said she, laughing; "not but he told the truth there. I remember having given him something like what lawyers call a retainer."

"Such a man might be very troublesome, Loo," said he, cautiously.

"Not a bit of it, papa; he might be very useful, on the contrary.

Indeed, I'm' not quite certain that I have not exactly the very service on which to employ him."

"Remember, Loo," said he, warmly, "he's a shrewd fellow in _his_ way."

"In _his_ way' he is, but _his_ way is not _mine_," said she, with a saucy toss of the head. "Have you any idea, papa, of what may be the sort of place or employment he looks for? Is he ambitious, or has adversity taught him humility?"

"A good deal depends upon the time of the day when one talks to him.

Of a morning he is usually downcast and depressed; he 'd go out as a magistrate to the Bahamas or consul to a Poyais republic. Towards dinner-time he grows more difficult and pretentious; and when he has got three or four glasses of wine in, he would n't take less than the Governorship of a colony."

"Then it's of an evening one should see him."

"Nay, I should say not, Loo. I would rather take him at his cheap moment."

"Quite wrong, papa,--quite wrong. It is when his delusions are strongest that he will be most easily led. His own vanity will be the most effectual of all intoxications. But you may leave him to _me_ without fear or misgiving."

"I suppose so," said he, dryly. And a silence of some minutes ensued.

"Why are you taking such pains about your hair, Loo," asked he, "if you are going in domino?"

"None can ever tell when or where they must unmask in this same life of ours, papa," said she, laughingly; "and I have got such a habit of providing for casualties that I have actually arranged my papers and letters in the fashion they ought to be found in after my death."

Holmes sighed. The thought of such a thing as death is always unwelcome to a man with a light auburn wig and a florid complexion, who wants to cheat Fate into the notion that he is hale and hearty, and who likes to fancy himself pretty much what he was fifteen or twenty years ago. And Holmes sighed with a feeling of compassionate sorrow for himself.

"By the way, papa," said she, in a careless, easy tone, "where are you stopping?"

"At the Hotel d'Italie, my dear."

"What do you think,--had n't you better come here?"

"I don't exactly know, nor do I precisely see how."

"Leave all that to me, papa. You shall have an invitation,--'Sir William Heathcote's compliments,' &c,--all in due form, in the course of the day, and I 'll give directions about your room. You have no servant, I hope?"

"None."

"So much the better; there is no guarding against the garrulity of that class, and all the craftiest stratagems of the drawing-room are often undermined in the servants'-hall. As for yourself, you know that you represent the late Captain's executor. You were the guardian of poor dear Penthony, and his oldest friend in the world."

"Knew him since he was so high!" said he, in a voice of mock emotion, as he held out his extended palm about two feet above the floor.

"That will give you a world of trouble, papa, for you 'll have to prepare yourself with so much family history, explaining what Morrises they were, how they were Penthonys, and so on. Sir William will torture you about genealogies."

"I have a remedy for that, my dear," said he, slyly. "I am most painfully deaf! No one will maintain a conversation of a quarter of an hour with me without risking a sore throat; not to say that no one can put delicate questions in the voice of a boatswain."

"Dear papa, you are always what the French call 'at the level of the situation,' and your deafness will be charming, for our dear Baronet and future husband has a most inquisitive turn, and would positively torture you with interrogatories."

"He 'll be more than mortal if he don't give in, Loo. I gave a Lunacy Commissioner once a hoarseness that required a course of the waters at Vichy to cure; not to say that, by answering at cross purposes, one can disconcert the most zealous inquirer. But now, my dear, that I am in possession of my hearing, do tell me something about yourself and your plans."

"I have none, papa,--none," said she, with a faint sigh. "Sir William Heathcote has, doubtless, many, and into some of them I may perhaps enter. He intends, for instance, that some time in March I shall be Lady Heathcote; that we shall go and live--I'm not exactly sure where, though I know we 're to be perfectly happy, and, not wishing to puzzle him, I don't ask how."

"I have no doubt you will be happy, Loo," said he, confidently.

"Security, safety, my dear, are great elements of happiness."

"I suppose they are," said she, with another sigh; "and when one has been a privateer so long, it is pleasant to be enrolled in the regular navy, even though one should be laid up in ordinary."