But not so Eleanor, or Mr. James Brentwood Baldwin, who now appeared hovering on the edge of the group. Eleanor, her face very pale, fixed her eyes on Senator Mulligan with a haughty stare, which he perfectly understood, and resented. A gleam shot into his eye which showed that he meant to pay her back for her insolence. Mr. Baldwin, in the most acute misery, practised the goose-step and tried to stem the tide of Senator Mulligan’s eloquence. “Er--ah--eh--Mr. Mulligan, your compliments to the late Mr. Daniel Hogan are very much appreciated by me, as well as Mrs. Baldwin--especially as I recall with pleasure--what an--er--important--er--factor you were in the commerce of our native place. For myself, business has no real charm for me,” continued Mr. Baldwin, turning to the British Ambassador. “I have been reasonably successful, but my taste always lay in the way of books. I live among my books.” Up to this time Mr. Mulligan had spoken with a very fair Irish accent, but now he chose to lapse into the most violent brogue that ever grew on the green sod of Ireland. This was accompanied with a wink to Constance, which gave her extreme enjoyment, and a nudge in the Ambassador’s ribs, which he did not in the least resent. “Faith, and it’s the way yez always was, Jim Baldwin,” cried Mince Pie Mulligan. “Whin you an’ me was luggin’ the buckets of butter an’ jugs of the most iligant molasses to th’ cushtomers, it was you, Jim Baldwin, as was always a-savin’ your tin cints to buy a book. An’ when you was a-coortin’ Dan Hogan’s pretty daughter, ye’d actually mourn over the ice-cream ye filled her up wid bekase it wasn’t books wid a gilt bindin’!” At this point Mr. Mulligan squared himself off, and distributed a general wink around the circle, including Eleanor, who glared at him like a basilisk. Mrs. Hill-Smith felt acutely for her dear Eleanor, but, being secretly consumed with curiosity about antecedents as new to her as they were to Constance Maitland, could not forbear remaining. The Slaters were well established socially and financially at the time of Mrs. Hill-Smith’s birth, and she was as innocent of the phase of American life which Senator Mulligan was describing as if she had been born and reared in the royal apartments of Windsor Castle. Rochefoucauld has said there is something not unpleasant to us in the misfortunes of our best friends--and it was certainly true of Mrs. Hill-Smith--for while she was eyeing Eleanor Baldwin with an expression of the tenderest sympathy, she was inwardly rejoicing that there was no blot of butter or molasses upon the escutcheon of the Slaters. But a relentless fate seemed to direct Senator Mulligan’s tongue, and turning to her the Senator said, cheerfully, and without the least encouragement: “And I’m tould ye are the granddaughter of Cap’n Josh Slater, that I knew like me ould hat, when I was but la’ad, and he was Cap’n of the River Queen, one o’ the floatin’ palaces of the day on the Ohio River.”