“But sure, I didn’t care a hair for one of them,” she added reassuringly. “I only liked them just for joking and dancing--nothing more, I give ye me word. But I’d fine work keeping them off; they mostly wanted to marry me!” “You say you had many admirers, my dear. Did you not care for one of them? Come, now, do not be afraid to speak.” “No. Sorra one of them!” “And yet you are past one-and-twenty! It is strange that my little girl’s heart has never been touched,” continued Lord Mulgrave, in a meditative tone; “but I think I can explain it. I believe it was a case of like to like, and you instinctively shrank from the claims of a race to which you did not really belong.” “I expect there was something in that,” assented Joseline. “They said I was too particular, and all for picking and choosing.” “Now, supposing you had come across a gentleman wooer?”--and Lord Mulgrave paused interrogatively. (Did he notice that Joseline was very pale?) “I wonder how it would have been? Perhaps you and I would not be sitting here to-day, Joseline. I am thankful that you belong only to me!” A long pause ensued. Joseline was conscious that her mind was in a tempestuous state of indecision. Should she speak? Should she disinter and lay before her father, the poor little skeleton of her own romance? Should she or not? After all, there is something that belongs to ourselves. And yet--and yet---- Her large eyes gazed into vacancy. At last she faltered, in a low and shaken voice, “Well, father, there _was_ some one once. You are right. A gentleman--and--he was--a real gentleman. He went away six years ago, when I was but a young slip of a thing, and it nearly broke my heart. And that’s all.” “What was his name? Who was he?” he asked under his breath. “Sure there’s no need to tell ye that, for”--and her face quivered--“I’ll never come across him again.” “Irish, of course?” She nodded. “There now, I’ve told ye, and ye know all there is to know about me. Promise me ye will never let on.” “I promise faithfully. Did he give you the red dog?” “No, he gave him to Mrs. Foley. And now we will never spake of him again.” Here two tears, which had been gathering, fell. “You have me only secret.” As a servant entered with a telegram and turned up the electric light, her father looked searchingly at Joseline. Her face was white and haggard. “My little girl is tired?” he exclaimed. “Yes; I feel as if the feet were falling off me. I was standing so long to-day being tried on.” “Then you must go to bed at once. To-morrow we will do a drive and the theatre. Next day we go home. You are no longer afraid of me, are you, dear?”--and he bent down and kissed the hair over her brow. “You must not. You are my only child; all I have, remember.” “I will remember, and you will remember”; and she looked up at him with an expression more eloquent than speech. An undivided and implicit trust, spoke in her beautiful eyes. END OF PART II PART III CHAPTER XXII