He did look at the
Angel's face intently, and suddenly found it so good that it was
difficult to follow the next injunction. He arose instantly.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "The fact is, I am leaving Chicago sorely
disappointed. It makes me bitter and reckless. I thought you one more of
those queer, useless people who have thrust themselves on me constantly,
and I was careless. Forgive me, and tell me why you came."
"I will if I like you," said the Angel stoutly, "and if I don't, I
won't!"
"But I began all wrong, and now I don't know how to make you like me,"
said his lordship, with sincere penitence in his tone.
The Angel found herself yielding to his voice. He spoke in a soft,
mellow, smoothly flowing Irish tone, and although his speech was
perfectly correct, it was so rounded, and accented, and the sentences so
turned, that it was Freckles over again. Still, it was a matter of the
very greatest importance, and she must be sure; so she looked into the
beautiful woman's face.
"Are you his wife?" she asked.
"Yes," said the woman, "I am his wife.
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