"A Lord-man! Bet my hoecake's scorched! Here I've gone and pledged my word to Freckles I'd find him some decent relatives, that he could be proud of, and now there isn't a chance out of a dozen that he'll have to be ashamed of them after all.
It's too mean!" The tears of vexation rolled down the tired, nerve-racked Angel's cheeks.
"This isn't going to do," she said, resolutely wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand and gulping down the nervous spasm in her throat.

"I must read this paper before I meet Lord O'More." She blinked back the tears and spreading the paper on her knee, read: "After three months' fruitless search, Lord O'More gives up the quest of his lost nephew, and leaves Chicago today for his home in Ireland." She read on, and realized every word.

The likeness settled any doubt.

It was Freckles over again, only older and well dressed.
"Well, I must catch you if I can," muttered the Angel.

"But when I do, if you are a gentleman in name only, you shan't have Freckles; that's flat.