It was well conceived, well timed, and cordially delivered—­and it got its reward.

“Let me see.  Where was I?  Yes, my father’s earldom is pure moonshine.  Look at those dreadful things on the wall.  You have of course supposed them to be portraits of his ancestors, earls of Rossmore.  Well, they are not.  They are chromos of distinguished Americans—­all moderns; but he has carried them back a thousand years by re-labeling them.  Andrew Jackson there, is doing what he can to be the late American earl; and the newest treasure in the collection is supposed to be the young English heir—­I mean the idiot with the crape; but in truth it’s a shoemaker, and not Lord Berkeley at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why of course I am.  He wouldn’t look like that.”

“Why?”

“Because his conduct in his last moments, when the fire was sweeping around him shows that he was a man.  It shows that he was a fine, high-souled young creature.”

Tracy was strongly moved by these compliments, and it seemed to him that the girl’s lovely lips took on anew loveliness when they were delivering them.  He said, softly: 

“It is a pity he could not know what a gracious impression his behavior was going to leave with the dearest and sweetest stranger in the land of—­”

“Oh, I almost loved him!  Why, I think of him every day.  He is always floating about in my mind.”

Tracy felt that this was a little more than was necessary.  He was conscious of the sting of jealousy.  He said: 

“It is quite right to think of him—­at least now and then—­that is, at intervals—­in perhaps an admiring way—­but it seems to me that—­”

“Howard Tracy, are you jealous of that dead man?”

He was ashamed—­and at the same time not ashamed.  He was jealous—­and at the same time he was not jealous.  In a sense the dead man was himself; in that case compliments and affection lavished upon that corpse went into his own till and were clear profit.  But in another sense the dead man was not himself; and in that case all compliments and affection lavished there were wasted, and a sufficient basis for jealousy.  A tiff was the result of the dispute between the two.  Then they made it up, and were more loving than ever.  As an affectionate clincher of the reconciliation, Sally declared that she had now banished Lord Berkeley from her mind; and added, “And in order to make sure that he shall never make trouble between us again, I will teach myself to detest that name and all that have ever borne it or ever shall bear it.”

This inflicted another pang, and Tracy was minded to ask her to modify that a little just on general principles, and as practice in not overdoing a good thing—­perhaps he might better leave things as they were and not risk bringing on another tiff.  He got away from that particular, and sought less tender ground for conversation.