“Well, I must catch you if I can,” muttered the Angel.  “But when I do, if you are a gentleman in name only, you shan’t have Freckles; that’s flat.  You’re not his father and he is twenty.  Anyway, if the law will give him to you for one year, you can’t spoil him, because nobody could, and,” she added, brightening, “he’ll probably do you a lot of good.  Freckles and I both must study years yet, and you should be something that will save him.  I guess it will come out all right.  At least, I don’t believe you can take him away if I say no.”

“Thank you; and wait, no matter how long,” she said to her driver.

Catching up the paper, she hurried to the desk and laid down Lord O’More’s card.

“Has my uncle started yet?” she asked sweetly.

The surprised clerk stepped back on a bellboy, and covertly kicked him for being in the way.

“His lordship is in his room,” he said, with a low bow.

“All right,” said the Angel, picking up the card.  “I thought he might have started.  I’ll see him.”

The clerk shoved the bellboy toward the Angel.

“Show her ladyship to the elevator and Lord O’More’s suite,” he said, bowing double.

“Aw, thanks,” said the Angel with a slight nod, as she turned away.

“I’m not sure,” she muttered to herself as the elevator sped upward, “whether it’s the Irish or the English who say:  ‘Aw, thanks,’ but it’s probable he isn’t either; and anyway, I just had to do something to counteract that ‘All right.’  How stupid of me!”

At the bellboy’s tap, the door swung open and the liveried servant thrust a cardtray before the Angel.  The opening of the door created a current that swayed a curtain aside, and in an adjoining room, lounging in a big chair, with a paper in his hand, sat a man who was, beyond question, of Freckles’ blood and race.

With perfect control the Angel dropped Lord O’More’s card in the tray, stepped past his servant, and stood before his lordship.

“Good morning,” she said with tense politeness.

Lord O’More said nothing.  He carelessly glanced her over with amused curiosity, until her color began to deepen and her blood to run hotly.

“Well, my dear,” he said at last, “how can I serve you?”

Instantly the Angel became indignant.  She had been so shielded in the midst of almost entire freedom, owing to the circumstances of her life, that the words and the look appeared to her as almost insulting.  She lifted her head with a proud gesture.

“I am not your ‘dear,’” she said with slow distinctness.  “There isn’t a thing in the world you can do for me.  I came here to see if I could do something—­a very great something—­for you; but if I don’t like you, I won’t do it!”

Then Lord O’More did stare.  Suddenly he broke into a ringing laugh.  Without a change of attitude or expression, the Angel stood looking steadily at him.