“That is like you,” he answered, gratefully; “but such things can never be arranged happily.  They must grow.  Wait until you meet her.  I am to see her to-night.  I will bring her to you to-morrow, if I may.”

“It is arranged, this marriage?” she asked, delighted at a bit of romance.

“Not in the least,” he answered, concisely.

“But she loves you?”

“On the contrary,” he said, quietly, “she loves another.”

“And you are hoping—­” The Countess hesitated.

“Not hoping,” Dermott answered, “determined.”

“How old is she?”

“Nearly nineteen, and Irish.”

“Irish girls are hard to change.”

“But you loved your second husband, did you not?” Dermott inquired.

“I hope I was a good wife,” the Countess answered, evasively, adding, “But you remember our own Tom Moore!”

“’The wild freshness of morning—­’?”

Dermott stood looking into the fire, his eyes drooped, his face saddened.

“But there is something else to remember as well,” Madame de Nemours said, touching him on the shoulder and looking up at him admiringly.  “The half-gods go when the gods arrive.  And you have everything in your favor.  You are so great a man and such a charming fellow, Dermott!”

* * * * *

On the following day Katrine came alone to see Madame de Nemours, Dermott having concluded wisely that his presence would be but a drawback to any quick acquaintance between the two.

“I am Katrine,” the girl answered, in response to the Countess’ query.  “Mr. McDermott has been so kind as to send me to you.”

“It came about in this way,” the Countess explained, drawing Katrine to a couch and still keeping her hand.  “There was a time when I knew Dermott, my cousin, very well.  That was in Ireland, before he became the great man he now is.  Since that time we have written to each other always, for he has been kind enough to give me his friendship.  He came yesterday.  I was sad, and told him of my lonesomeness.  It is best, is it not, to be quite frank when two people are meeting as you and I are doing?  In spite of all this,” and here she made a slight gesture to include her luxurious surroundings, “I am quite a poor woman.  And so when I told Dermott that I was lonesome in this great house, with none but servants, no companions, he spoke to me of you.  He was quite practical.  He said that you spent much money as you were living.  He told me of your great beauty and your greater voice.  I became very much interested in you, and we arranged for this talk.  Now that I have seen you, I want you to come and live with me very much, very much.”  She was so charming in her kindness, this great lady!  “But you may not desire it.  The situation is awkward for me.”  She smiled here, and a humorous light danced in her eyes, for with all her graciousness she was quite certain of her charm.  “And so we will leave you to think it over and tell Mr. McDermott, who will in turn tell the decision to me.  That will save my vanity from being hurt openly in case you do not come.”