The Building of Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

beautiful face of me! Oh, the shame to my father that he should have given such a treasure to Corry Court! It’s enough to make me cry my eyes out!” She turned furiously to her cousin. “What was the debt?”

      “I don’t know,” returned Bridget, “except that it was double what the portrait is worth.”

      “Then it must be a fortune, indeed, for the portrait was painted by one of the greatest artists living!” “You are welcome to the picture,” said Bridget, “if only you will pay the debt.”

      “I’ll pay no debts but my own! But, oh, I do so want this picture. ’T will be a lovely thing to take out to Canada and hang beside my new portrait — the one I’ve told you of.”

      “I suppose you’ll go on having portraits of yourself till you’re a hundred! Ah, I wish I could see the last one! It’s a raving beauty you’ll be then, Adeline.”

      “I shall be on the face of the earth, which is more than you will be!”

      Still carrying the lighted candle, she flew back along the hall and flung open the door of the dining room. The four men were talking in quiet tones, the firelight throwing a peaceful glow upon them, the candles burning low. The decanter of port in the hand of Lord Killiekeggan trembled a little, as he replenished his glass.

      “Oh, but it’s a queer father you are!” cried Adeline, fixing her eyes on Renny Court. “To give away the portrait of your own child for a paltry debt, not worth the gilt frame on it! There I was, walking down the hall in my innocence, when suddenly I spied it hanging on the wall and it all but cried out in shame at being there. The candle all but fell out of my hand in my shame. Oh, well do I remember when my mother took me to Dublin to have it painted and the way the great artist gave me flowers and sweets to amuse me and the sweet little necklace on me that my grandmother gave me! Oh, Grandpapa, did you know that my father had done such a thing?”

      “Is the girl mad?” asked Killiekeggan, turning to his son-in-law.

      “No, no — just in a temper.” He spoke sternly to Adeline. “Come now — enough of this! The picture is not worth this to-do.”

      “Not worth it!” she cried. “’Tis little you know of its value! Why, when I told the London artist the name of the great man who had painted me in childhood, he said he would gladly journey all the way to County Meath to gaze on the portrait!”

      Corrigan Court asked abruptly — “And what was the name of the great artist, Adeline?”

      Her lips fell apart. She stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. She pressed her fingers to her brow and thought and then said sadly — “You’ve knocked it right out of my head, Corry. It was there just a moment ago.” Her face lighted and she turned to Philip. “I’ve said his name to you many a time, haven’t I, Philip?”

      “You have,” said Philip, stoutly, “many a time.”

      “And you’ve forgotten it too?” said Corrigan.

      “Yes. It has just slipped my memory.” He had been drinking a good deal. His fair face was flushed.

      “One glance at the portrait,” said Adeline, “even from a distance, and the name will come to me.” She turned back into the hall. The four men rose and followed her, the old Marquis carrying his glass in his hand. At about ten paces from the picture she halted and strained her eyes toward its lower corner. She had wonderful eyesight. “I could not possibly read the name from here, could I?” she asked.

      “No,” returned Corrigan. “And if you put your very nose against the picture you won’t see any signature, for either the artist did not consider it worth the trouble of signing or he was ashamed of his name.”

      She all but threw the candlestick at his head. “You’ve painted the name out yourself, Corry Court,” she cried, “you’ve painted it out so as to conceal its great worth! You knew that if some connoisseur saw it he would tell my father of the evil bargain you made!”

      Renny Court threw a suspicious look at his cousin Corrigan. He then took the candle from Adeline’s hand and, holding it close to the portrait, scrutinized the two lower corners. “It’s a queer little blob there is here,” he said.

      “Yes,” cried Adeline, “that’s just where the signature was! It was signed with a sweet little flourish. Oh, the name will come back to me in a moment.”

      “It was never signed,” said Corry Court. “And you know it was never signed. It’s a pretty picture and I’ve always liked it and, when your father offered it to me, I took it. I well knew it was all I was likely to get for the debt.”

      “Oh, Father, how could you?” said Adeline, tears shining in her eyes. “There’s nothing I want so much as this picture. And I was going to beg it from you as another wee wedding present for you acknowledged yourself, in a letter you wrote me to India, that it was not much you’d been able to give me in the way of a present.”

      “Not much!” cried Renny Court. “Why, I’m still in debt for your trousseau! If you want this picture so badly — you have the money your great-aunt left you — buy it!”

      “I’ll not part with it,” said Corry.

      Adeline turned to him with a charming smile.

      “You still love me, Corry dear, don’t you?”

      They exchanged a look. Corrigan flushed red. Adeline gazed at him with affectionate pity.

      “You may keep the picture, Corry dear,” she said. “I love to think of it here — reminding you and Biddy of me.”

      “I am not likely to forget you,” said Bridget grimly. “Wherever you are, you make trouble.”

      “Tut, tut, girls,” put in Lord Killiekeggan. “Don’t quarrel. Don’t spoil your pretty faces with frowns.”

      Bridget knew she was not pretty but his words pleased her. She arched her neck and looked challengingly at Adeline. “Well,” she said, “shall we go into the drawing-room?”

      Adeline caught her grandfather by the arm.

      “Don’t leave me alone with Bridget!” she implored. “I’m afraid of her.”

      “Behave yourself,” he said, and gave her hand a little slap, but he allowed himself to be led into the drawing-room.

      Corry was not loath to save his old port, of which quite enough had been already drunk. He was a little downcast at the prospect of the quarrel which he knew he would have later with his wife.

      Philip was in a state of bland serenity. He seated himself in a comfortable chair and accepted a pinch of snuff from the jewelled box which the old Marquis proffered him. Adeline spread out the glimmering flounces of her crinoline and eyed her grandfather beguilingly.

      “What a sweet box!” she said.

      Well, she was his loveliest granddaughter and she was going far away. He put the snuffbox in her hand.

      “Take it,” he said, “and when an Indian chief offers you the pipe of peace you can give him a pinch of snuff in exchange.”

      No one could have been more charming and self-forgetful than Adeline during the rest of the visit. But there was tension between her and Bridget. They were quite ready to part when the last morning came. The wagonette waited at the door for Adeline’s trunks, for she went nowhere without a quantity of luggage. She stood in the hall, tall and slender, in a dark green riding habit, her hair plaited neatly beneath the small hat from which a dark feather drooped against the creamy whiteness of her cheek. Her red lips were parted in a blandishing smile.

      “Ah, the beautiful visit I’ve had!” she cried, embracing Bridget. “Ah, thank you, dear cousin, for all you’ve done! When Philip and I are settled in our new home you and Corry must come and spend a year with us, for indeed ’t would take a year to repay you for all you’ve done for us!”

      Bridget