expense they judged needful to her safe convoy across Europe would be
gratefully repaid by him.

'Is it all right, dear? Have I forgotten anything?' asked he, as Kate read
it over.

'It's everything, papa--everything. And I _do_ long to see her.'

'I hope she's like Matty--if she's only like her poor mother, it will make
my heart young again to look at her.'




CHAPTER III

THE CHUMS


In that old square of Trinity College, Dublin, one side of which fronts
the Park, and in chambers on the ground-floor, an oak door bore the
names of 'Kearney and Atlee.' Kearney was the son of Lord Kilgobbin;
Atlee, his chum, the son of a Presbyterian minister in the north of
Ireland, had been four years in the university, but was still in his
freshman period, not from any deficiency of scholarlike ability to push
on, but that, as the poet of the _Seasons_ lay in bed, because he 'had
no motive for rising,' Joe Atlee felt that there need be no urgency
about taking a degree which, when he had got, he should be sorely
puzzled to know what to do with. He was a clever, ready-witted, but
capricious fellow, fond of pleasure, and self-indulgent to a degree that