"And she left him?" Mrs. Ravenel's voice was full of sympathy as she spoke.
"For another!" Dermott made a dramatic pause, relishing his climaxes. "And then she died."
"So, for his daughter's sake"—there was a curious hesitancy in his speech just here, but he carried it off jauntily—"his daughter, a primrose girl and the love of my life, I've come to ask that you be a bit lenient with him, Mr. Ravenel, at the times he has taken a drop too much, as your lady mother has been in the year past. I think you'll find him able to manage, for, in spite of his infirmity, black and white fall under his spell alike."
"If Frank has a fault, Mr. McDermott, which I do not think he has, it's over-generosity. You need have no fear for your friend," Mrs. Ravenel said, proudly, putting her hand on Frank's shoulder.
As her son turned to kiss the slender fingers, Dermott McDermott regarded the two curiously.
"You're fortunate in having a son of twenty—" He hesitated.
"
Of twenty-five," Francis finished for him.
"—so devoted to you, madam. Ye're twenty-five—coming or going?" he inquired, with a laugh.
"On my last birthday—April."