“I will, sir,” James responded, eagerly.  “I’ll do that as long as he stays in New York, but he says they’re trying to get him to go back to New Orleans.”

“Who are ’they’?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“That is the first thing to discover, James.  I shall trust you to do it.”

Gorham rose, and James, vastly satisfied with himself, followed the suggestion.

“I’ll do it for you, sir,” he said at the door.  “You can depend on me for that.”

“Thank you, James; and in the mean time it will be prudent for you to keep your information to yourself.”

“Yes, sir; I’ll do that, sir.  Any one with a Tammany Hall education knows how to do that, sir.”

Riley was anxiously awaiting the close of the interview, and eagerly accompanied his son to the front door.  Before he opened it, the old man turned inquiringly.

“Ain’t ye goin’ ter tell me phwat it’s all about, Jimmie?”

“It’s too delicate a situation to discuss with the servants,” James replied, freezingly.  “Me and Mr. Gorham understands each other, that’s all.”

Riley gazed with still greater admiration at the straight figure which passed by him, out of the house, and up the gravel walk to the street.

“Jimmie’s th’ great man,” he muttered to himself as he closed the door—­“he’s th’ great man, mixin’ wid men like Misther Robert; but he hadn’t oughter wear that sorry rag an’ th’ ravens, wid me, his only livin’ relation, still livin’.”

The bell rang almost immediately, and Riley, certain that James had returned, hastened to throw the door open.  As he did so, he discovered Allen Sanford.

“Who’s that undertaker person?” Allen demanded.

Riley straightened perceptibly. “‘Tis me son James, Misther Sanford, an’ it’s th’ great man he is, an’ no undertaker.”

“I beg your pardon, Riley,” Allen laughed, noting the old man’s injured dignity.  “Of course I should have known; but I may want to employ an undertaker soon, so I suppose I had it on my mind.”

“Ain’t ye falin’ well, Misther Allen?” Riley asked, anxiously.

“Oh, I don’t want him for myself,” Allen laughed again.  “Is Miss Alice in?”

“How do I know ’til she tells me, sor?”

“All right; you’ll have to ask her then, won’t you?  If she is in, tell her that I’ve called to have tea with her.”

Alice was in particularly high spirits.  She had digested Covington’s proposal, and found that she enjoyed it.  She was still waiting for a chance to discuss it with Eleanor and her father, but she experienced an unexpected amount of pleasure in thinking it over by herself.  She had already decided that she would take plenty of time before she gave her answer.  The sensation was so exhilarating that she was unwilling to shorten its duration.  It was all so incredible that she—­little she—­should have attracted a man of Mr. Covington’s calibre to the extent that he should actually want to marry her!  And now Allen had called, giving her an outlet for this unusual buoyancy.