said Miss Brangan, in a discontented tone; "let us go over, and try to get near that tent where they are now."

"Oh no, don't! They'll be going now directly, and we can watch them pass out of the gate," cried Dicky.

But Miss Brangan would not be satisfied with this. She was determined to inspect their Excellencies just as she had inspected the other attractions of the fête; and she dragged the party over to that part of the grounds where the vice-regal party now were. Dicky gave Nellie a pull and a meaning glance.

"Let them go-and deuce go with them. Pack! Here come Orpen and Griffiths; I'm delighted they're gone."

Mr. Orpen engaged Nellie in conversation, while Mr. Tad Griffiths whispered hurriedly to Dicky,

"Are you coming to-night? Orpen said you were afraid to."

Afraid, eh? We'll see. I'm short of cash, though. Has he settled who is to be in the collection for the Derby?"

"Yes, ten of us; it's twenty-five shillings

each. Listen: they say Mahoney's married to the housemaid. Lord!-fact! Did you ever hear of such a fool? Big idiot! Mulcahy Is all your money gone?" "I'll manage it, though.

said he'd join too. Dicky nodded. Who else is in ?"

"Wylding, he is going it: he told me this morning he had his mother's Indian shawl, his own and his brother's dress suit, and a whole heap of books, in pawn. And the fun of it is, they're invited to a dance next week, and the dress suits will be wanting,-ho! ho! Isn't that a joke? Moreover, there's a nice row already you see his father locks the hall door every night, and the keys are carried upstairs. Well, my brave Wylding hops in and out by the dining-room window; there's no area round the corner. And if the cook didn't see him and tell on him! Such a scrummage! And now, if this other little game is found out it will be a nice job altogether."

Just then Miss O'Hegarty appeared, having followed Nellie and Dicky.

"How do you do, Mr. Orpen? I hope your mother is better. Nellie and Dick, their

1

Ex'cies. are gone; I think we ought to be going. Nearly six o'clock ! dinner will be ready before we are home. Come along, dears. Nice gentlemanly lads, those are, Dicky,” she went on as they walked towards the gates. "I am glad to see you choose such nice improving companions: that young Orpen is so quiet and refined."

A grim smile passed over Dicky's rather haggard face; but he did not endeavour to disillusion her.

"Who were those people you were with, Nellie ?"

"The Miss Raffertys, and some of their friends," answered Nellie a little absently.

"Ah yes: R. C.'s; I guessed as much. Their toilettes decidedly bore the 'mark of the Beast,' as Mr. Wyldoates calls it. Wonderful,it's wonderful; but one recognizes them always. Do walk faster, children. Peter will be so furious."

CHAPTER VII.

A JUNE morning in College Green. The Bank stood out clear and bright; the scarlet uniforms of the sentries and the white and blue wings of the pigeons gleaming in the sun, might, by a fanciful eye, have been taken for flowers set against the grey stone background. The strawberry sellers were crying their wares, and a flower-girl or two with a basket of pot roses and mignonette, scented the air as they loitered by. A blue haze shimmered in the sky; the smoke curled up in thin, transparent reeks. The awnings were all drawn down before the windows; and the day promised to be intensely hot.

Mr. Saltasche, driving over to his office from the terminus, seemed to find it so already. He lay back in his seat languidly, resting his elbow on the well of his car, and holding a newspaper so as to keep the strong sun out of his eyes. He reached the office in Dame

Street, and ascended the steps slowly, nodding mechanically in reply to the greetings of some men who were standing in the lobby. He walked over to the window, and looked out. High over head, in the centre of the street, the telegraph wires ran; he followed their course with his eyes, and noted where they connected at the Commercial Buildings, and then went on again to the newspaper offices, to the Corn Exchange, and across town.

"Humph!" said he, almost aloud," another couple of hours, and everything will be decided." Then, after a long glance up and down the street, he turned round to his desk. It held a goodly pile of letters and telegrams; and he seated himself to his morning's work. An envelope caught his eye directed in a lady's hand-large round English handwriting. He opened it quickly: it was from Mrs. Poignarde, and had been sent by hand.

"DEAR MR. SALTASCHE,-Eric has just had a telegram from London about the race, and he is in a terrible state. He has left with some men, in order to hear the result as soon as possible. C. P."