"Changed it? Why, pray?" asked Dermot, laughing.

"For gentility-to take the Irish out of it, of course. Here's a man coming up here: his name is Burke, and he has changed it back, as he says, to De Burgh; and there go the Byrnes, who spell themselves Burnes; and the Reillys, who call themselves Reallys. They're past counting. Dugan, whose father was Duggan; Roneys, who were Rooneys. Oh! look! look!-here come The World, the Flesh, and the Devil.'"

"What!" cried Dermot, staring at three over-dressed, elderly young women who were coming up.

"That's what they're called," explained Dicky; "and that swell yonder, he is a rich tallow-chandler, and he's called Count Chandelier."

"Why," said Dermot Blake, "you have as many nicknames here as we had at Yosemite or the North Fork. Come up on the top of the wall, and you will show me everybody; and perhaps, my dear cousin, you will allow me to smoke a cigar. You're coming up to dine with us in Royal Terrace, are you not?”

VOL. III.

12

"Yes," replied Nellie abstractedly.

She was looking down at Hogan and his friend Saltasche, who were standing amid a crowd of gentlemen talking and laughing together. What could be the rumour? What had he done? She thought he looked the handsomest and best dressed man amongst them all. He had such a tone and bearing. Certainly London does improve people. The Raffertys were sitting on a bench near; and she could see that Mrs. Rafferty pointed out her friend, the Member for Peatstown, to every one who came up. They quite plumed themselves on his acquaintance. What in the world could the rumour be? Business? Maybe that Mr. Saltasche: but stay-was not Cousin Dorothy speaking of Diana Bursford? She was in London; could-no

Then a deep-chested laugh from Dermot Blake startled her. Dicky was pointing out some one below.

"So, eh, that's O'Rooney Hogan, M.P. Now, is it the man with the light zephyr coat? Hey, now! and that's the fellow they say my old flame, Di. Bursford, is to marry. How funny!" and Dermot stared at Hogan with

his great eyes wide open. "Why, he's rather a good-looking fellow. See, Cousin Nellie,what's your opinion? Oh! you know him, hey, do you?"

66

'Nellie, what's the matter with you? you're as white as a sheet," Dicky asked abruptly.

"Ah, nothing!" she replied, a little peevishly; for she felt confused by the sudden and inquisitive gaze Dermot Blake had turned upon her. "The sun is making me quite giddy. I have a bad headache."

"Have you, now?" asked Dermot, quite interested and anxious. "Come along down, and take my arm; we'll go up to where Dorothy is."

They redescended the steps, and crossing to the outside edge of the Pier, where there was the least dust, and where the patchouli and frangipani of the fine ladies did not offend them, they walked slowly on. Nellie passed the group where Hogan stood without raising her eyes. She could not, for Dermot Blake's were so closely bent on her. She was sick of the noise and glare and bustle, and longed to be away in some retired, shady nook, to think quietly over everything. She was

trying to remember what Hogan had said at the head of the Pier-the exact words, his look and manner. It was no use. Dicky was chattering and laughing; and Dermot, who seemed capable of attending to both of them at the same time, appeared never to relax his watch. She was ready to cry with vexation; and when they at last reached Miss Dorothy, she insisted on sitting down beside her and Miss Braginton, and refused to walk again to the end to let Dicky show Dermot the beautiful yacht which had arrived last week from Cowes, and on board which the owner, a rich Manchester man, and all his family were living. They went off,-Dermot rather unwillingly, it seemed to her; and she, not being called on to take her part in Miss Braginton's discourse, sat and fretted and troubled to her heart's content. Dermot Blake-great, big, disagreeable, teasing creature-must have taken something into his head; and how in the world was she ever to sit opposite to him at dinner?

CHAPTER XIII.

"Wo so ein Köpfchen keinen Ausgang sieht
Stellt er sich gleich das Ende vor.

Es lebe, wer sich tapfer hält !

Du bist doch sonst so ziemlich eingeteufelt.
Nichts abgeschmackters find ich auf der Welt
Als ein Teufel, der verzweifelt."

"Ан-mine Gott! what shall pe done? He is gone with fifty dousand-perhaps a hundert -what shall I say?-all de money, Bruen!" shouted the senior partner. "Bruen, you

fool! what is to be done?" And Mr. Stier dashed a slip of paper on the ground, and wringing his fat white hands, stamped up and down the hearthrug of the office in Cole Alley. Bruen, somewhat pale about his thin lips, sat stolidly in his chair.

"Well, he's gone this time in earnest; you have yourself to thank for it. I never was for allowing him to get the investing of the Leadmines capital-never! He got all the money he could lodged or invested in his name,