A flush rose to Jack’s face, and his eyes flashed. He had been drinking great bumpers of the Hawks’ favorite claret—a heady wine which Jack should never have touched at any time, especially not tonight.

“No, no one has left me a fortune; quite the reverse. But you’d better tell me about this heiress, I see, or you’ll die of disappointment. Who is she—where is she?—what is she? Here’s her good health, whoever she is,” and down went another bumper of the Lafitte; and as it went down, it was to Una he drank, not to the unknown one.

“Do you remember Earlsley?” said Arkroyd. “Oh, no, of course not, you must have been in your cradle in the wigwam in that time. Well; old Wigsley died and left his money to a fifty-second cousin, who turned out to be a girl. No one knew anything about her; no one knew where to find her; but at last there comes a claimant in the shape of a girl from one of the Colonies—Canada. That isn’t a colony, is it, though? Australia—anywhere—nobody knows, you know. She came over with her belongings—a rum-looking old fellow, with a white head of long hair, like, a—a—what’s got a long head of white hair, Dally?”

“Try patriarch,” murmured the marquis.

“Well, in addition to the money, and there’s about a million, more or less—she’s got the most beautiful, that isn’t the word, most charming, fascinating little face you ever saw. If she looks at you, you feel as if you never could feel an ache or pain again as long as you lived.”

“Ark, you’ve had too much champagne.”

“No; ’pon my honor. Isn’t it right, Dally?”

“Yes, and if she smiles,” said Dalrymple, “you never could feel another moment’s unhappiness. The prettiest mouth—and when it opens, her teeth——”

“Oh, confound it!” exclaimed Jack, brusquely. “You needn’t run over her points as if she were a horse; I don’t want to buy her.”

As a matter of fact, he had only caught the last word or two, for while Arkroyd had been talking he had been thinking of that other beautiful girl—not a doll, with teeth and a smile, but an angel, pure and ethereal—a dream—not a fascinating heiress.