at the latter's door. A little after she had occasion to pass the door herself, when she heard the owner whistling as he dressed. And a little later yet she met her father in his Sunday suit. Irralie kissed him, but left her palms upon his shoulders, and searched him with a smile that made him wonder what was coming.
"Well, father, what do you think of our friend?"
"Fullarton?"
"Yes."
"A very excellent fellow," declared the manager, with a conviction that brought a thankful flush to the girl's face. "We sat up quite late, and I haven't enjoyed a chat so much for a long time. But, mind you"—and he lowered his voice—"the man's no more like an Earl's son than you or I."
"How do you mean?" asked Irralie, paling in a moment. Luckily she was dealing with no close observer; indeed, this very thought contributed to her pallor: here was also the least suspicious of men.
