plan what's to be done. Good night."

"I like that young man," declared Killigrew emphatically. "He's the
real article. American to the backbone; a millionaire who doesn't
splurge. Well," sighing regretfully, "he was born to it, and I had to
dig for mine. But I can't get it through my head why he wants to
excavate mummies when he could dig up potatoes with some profit."

"Dad, find me an earl or a duke like Mr. Crawford, and I'll marry him
just as fast as you like."

"Kittibudget, I'm not so strong for dukes as I was. Your mother will
have a black eye in the morning, or I don't know a shindy when I see
it. Now, hike off to bed. I'm all in."

"You poor old dad! I worry you to death."

She threw her lovely arms about his neck and kissed him.

"Well, you're worth it. Kitty, I've had a jolt to-night. You marry
whom you blame please. I've been doing some tall thinking. Make your
own romance, duke or dry-goods clerk. You'd never hook up with
anything that wasn't a man. You're Irish. If he happens to be made,
all well and good; if not, why, I'll undertake to make him. And that's
a bargain. I don't want any alimony money in the Killigrew family."

She kissed him again and went into her bedroom. Kind-hearted,
impulsive old dad! In a week's time he would forget all about this
heart-to-heart talk, and shoo away every male who hadn't a title or a
million, or who wasn't due to fall heir to one or the other.