This then was Cousin Cleo, an impulsive, warm-hearted girl, with the better qualities of both Irish and American ancestors in her veins.
Her mother had been an Owen, while on her father's side she came from a long line of the famous Virginia Fairfax family. A better combination it would be hard to imagine; and in this coming together of old and new world blood lies the wonderful strength and marvelous ingenuity of the American people.
Miss Fairfax traveled withersoever her sweet will prompted, always accompanied by a spinster chaperone. Perhaps it was an accident that brought her to Dublin and the Shelbourne at the same time the English Ambassador's private agent took up his quarters there—these accidents, how often they happen, and how opportunely at times.
Besides the motherly chaperone, there was another in the party, a gentleman who in physique and handsome features far outshone Roderic.
Of course this was Jerome Wellington, a man of the world, belonging to a good family and now of a mind to settle down after having sown a magnificent crop of wild oats.
Naturally when such a dasher thus resolves to give up his freedom, he looks around for a girl whose income will forever preclude any and all possibility of his ever being compelled to live upon his wits again.
With ten millions more or less at her beck and nod, Miss Fairfax of Virginia offered grand opportunities in this line, and accordingly the Adonis who had seldom known what it was to fail had sworn a mighty oath that ere twelve moons had waxed and waned M'lle Cleo would have changed her name to the equally aristocratic one of Wellington.
Then he struck a snag.
He discovered that Cleo had since childhood cherished a deep and romantic fancy for Roderic Owen.
They had romped together, and as years fled the stalwart young man became her hero. She blindly adored him, and being so frank and open by nature, her secret was easily read by such an acute observer as Jerome, though the object of this affection had somehow never dreamed that he was regarded in any other than a cousinly way.
If Jerome had a strong point of which he was particularly proud it was his connection with divers deep and dark plots. He regarded himself in the light of a modern Machiavelli, and was never really happy unless dabbling in mysterious affairs.
In his day he had been Carlist, Anarchist, Socialist, Nihilist and heaven knows what not.
Hence, it was to him a very insignificant matter to figure out how he should wipe this interloper from his path. Bah! it was almost too easy a task for one of his magnificent intellect, brightened by contact with the greatest schemers of the world. However, the stake was a glorious one, and even trifles must be carefully looked after if success is desired.
So Jerome had set the machinery in motion which he expected would speedily eliminate his rival from the field.
Unfortunately for himself he did not consider that he was now up against a man whom Nature had abundantly endowed with common sense and shrewdness, and who as a secret service officer in charge of matters of state had gained considerable praise from the Honorable Secretary at Washington under whose direction he labored.
Besides, Jerome's objections had undoubtedly been hitherto conducted against European wits, and he might find wide awake Yankee minds constructed on a somewhat different order.
Roderic chatted and laughed pleasantly for a little time, as though on the best of terms with himself and every one else in the world.
Then, pleading business he tore himself away.
Now that his attention had been forcibly brought to bear upon the subject he could not but note the blushes that mantled his cousin's face upon his addressing any remark directly to her, and the look of reproach she bestowed upon him when he left the gay party.
All of which gave him pain instead of pleasure.
The happiness of this cousin was of much moment in his eyes.
She had always laughingly declared her intention never to marry whenever he broached the subject of the right cavalier coming along, and up to the present Roderic had been dense enough not to suspect the truth.
It was just like a man at any rate.
But at the same time it reflected on his extreme modesty.
Jerome called out a joking farewell after him, which appeared harmless enough, but with his knowledge of the man's evil intentions Roderic was able to read between the lines and see the malevolence exposed.
"He laughs loudest who laughs last, my dear Jerome," he muttered as he walked away from the hotel, "and it remains to be seen how your game comes out. Heretofore I have considered the man a mere every day adventurer, attracted by the glitter of Cleo's gold, and believing she knew how to handle such fellows without gloves, did not think it my duty to interfere. Now that it begins to look more serious I find I shall be compelled to throw my castor into the ring, and take up cudgels in her defense. God bless her, a man could not well have a stronger inspiration to do his level best. How the duse I have failed to fall head over heels in love with Cleo all these years I am at a loss to understand, yet somehow I have had an affection for the dear girl such as one entertains for a sister. Now my eyes are opened, and it is I fear quite too late. Destiny has already wrought out my future for good or evil."
He was thinking again of San Juan with its park, its glittering lights, its military music and the flash of many dark Spanish eyes.
Yes, Roderic was quite right.
It was too late!
He could never offer Cleo or any other woman the first passion of his heart, since that had gone out under the palms and flower scented bowers of the Antilles to a daughter of Porto Rico.
He sighed as he relegated these things, both pleasant and painful, once more to oblivion, and again rallied his forces to grapple with the game on hand.
Just around the corner he came across a man advancing toward the hotel, and whom he hailed.
"Well met, Darby—I was on the way to hunt you up, while you seem headed for my quarters."
"Just so, sir," replied the other, who appeared a man of few words, and evidently one in whom Owen placed much confidence.
"You complained recently of rusting—that everything seemed so dull and dead. As fortune has it I am now in a position to offer you a little excitement, and at the same time you may be of great service to me."
Darby nodded his head—he was a man of ice, whom nothing could excite, and yet to whom action was as the air he breathed.
Knowing the nature of the man so well, Owen struck directly into his story, and ere many minutes had flown the other was as well acquainted with the facts as himself.
One feature alone he repressed.
This was the attachment on Cleo's part for so unworthy an individual as himself—that was too sacred to be given over as common property.
Darby would have to guess a reason for the hatred of Wellington—perhaps he might lay it to the Spanish sympathies of the other, which induced him to seek Dublin in order to have a hand in the mysterious conference with pronounced Fenian leaders; or it might be his sagacity would suggest the only plausible explanation.
Thus the story was told.
"Quite a neat little affair," commented Darby.
"Will you take my place?" asked Owen.
The other's face showed no sign of emotion.
"Just so, sir."