“So I thought,” agreed Peter. “She sat down by the beggar’s bedside and told him, by Jove! that she thought he needed a little motherly sympathy; that she had always looked with great favour upon his suit for her daughter, and that she hoped and had no doubt the young lady would smile upon him. She could promise it, in fact, after an interview this morning. I tell you, Waddy, she took my breath away. I could have screamed with laughter.” “No doubt,” said Mr. Waddy grimly. “How did the farce end?” “It ended with a few minutes’ earnest whispering on the part of the lady. Then she got up triumphantly, and that blackguard turned his ugly swollen face towards me. “‘Monsieur Skarrette,’ he said, in his dirty, broken English, ‘I veel vate faur ze promesse auf Mees Arabella teele aftare to-morrah. I veel not be anie maur cheete. Ef she do not agree, I sall tale all to Meestare Buddilung.’ “Well,” continued Peter, “I was white hot--I don’t think I shall be ever quite so angry again--I certainly hope not. I think Mrs. B. saw it and feared some further injury to the Gaul, for she said good-bye hastily and carried me away with her. Out in the hall, she turned to me again, cool as a cucumber. “‘You see he is quite reasonable,’ she said, with amazing impudence, ‘though naturally rather ardent for his object. We are much obliged to you, Mr. Skerrett.’ “She gave me her hand and the only sign of emotion she showed in the whole interview was to grasp mine like a vice. A few minutes afterward, I saw Belden help her into his buggy and they drove off together. Do you suppose it possible that she meditates some escapade with him? Of course all this couldn’t be told to poor old Flirney; he should be saved, if possible. But I could not bear to think of Arabella being the victim of such an infernal plot, without a friend. The matter had gone too far for ceremony, so I went up and knocked at her door. There is so much of that familiarity going on, that I supposed no one would notice it. She opened the door and, when she saw me, burst into tears. I felt so sorry for the poor child that I couldn’t help----” “Oh, you did, did you?” interrupted Ira, seeing a great light. “Yes, I did; and she shall be Mrs. Peter Skerrett, if her step-mother is a---- She shall, by Jove!” “Peter, you’re the king of trumps!” cried Mr. Waddy, and held out his hand. “And, by curry! you deserve to be congratulated. She’s a nice girl.”