Chapter 2 Project Selection & Management

Systems Analysis and Design 6th Edition

Dennis Solutions Manual

full chapter at: https://testbankbell.com/product/systems-

analysis-and-design-6th-edition-dennis-solutions-manual/

Chapter 2: Project Selection and Management

Answer to Your Turn 2-1: To Select or Not to Select

Student answers will vary based on knowledge and experience. The response will more than
likely describe a project that, though it would seem to be a perfect choice, did not fit into the
organizational portfolio of projects. This is an appropriate time to discuss the topic of budgets
which organizations must live within.

Answer to Your Turn 2-2: Selecting a Methodology

Throwaway prototyping would be a good choice for this scenario for a number of
reasons. First, this is a brand new idea, so there may be some ambiguity or confusion as
to the functionality of the system. Second, there are technical issues associated with
integrating existing hardware and software due to the diversity at different locations
around the world. Third, the time frame to delivery is one year.

The time frame would allow for an in-depth analysis to gather information and develop
ideas for the system before the design phase. Once the initial requirements were
documented, a series of design prototypes can be created, distributed and tested to
determine whether issues dealing with functionality or technical problems have been
addressed. Once the issues have been resolved, the project can move into design and
implementation. Direct students to FIGURE 2-9 as it allows students to compare and
contrast the methodologies with the selection criteria discussed in the chapter.

Answer to Your Turn 2-3: Communication Complexity

1. For a six member team, there are 15 communication channels.

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Chapter 2 Project Selection & Management

For an eight member team, there are 28 channels. A good formula for figuring out
how many channels there are is: [N * (N-1)] / 2, where N is the number of team
members.
2. Answers will vary, but the larger the team the larger number of communication
channels and the more complex communications will be.

Answer to Your Turn 2-4: CASE Tool Analysis

Student responses will vary based on the CASE tool selected. As a rule, CASE tools used
during the analysis phase for creating integrated diagrams of the system and to store
information regarding system components are referred to as upper CASE, whereas
CASE tools used during the design phase to create diagrams and associated code for
system functionality and databases are referred to as lower CASE.

Answer to Concepts in Action 2-A: Project Portfolio Management

Just a note that it an excellent idea to discuss the sheer size of the number of proposals and funded
projects that a large organization fields on an annual basis. This stresses the importance of quality
work with the System Request Form and that analysts must be adequately prepared in such a
competitive area.

Answer to Concepts in Action 2-B, 2-C: Interview with CIO

Having your university or college CIO be a guest in class to answer questions from the students
would be a great idea. Putting a name and a face on this very important position is an excellent
thing to do.

Answer to Concepts in Action 2-D: Agile Development at Travelers

1. The projects certainly could be done with JAD sessions or with having the users
review the project on a weekly basis. However, the success of an agile development
depends upon the cohesiveness of the team, typically accomplished by having users
meet and devote all their time to the project so that they are able to communicate
ideas, comments, suggestions, and providing feedback immediately.

2. In order to work on an agile development project, an analyst needs to be highly

motivated, dedicated to the project, able to communicate effectively, and work well
in a high-paced team environment.

Answer to Concepts in Action 2-E: Where Agile Works and Doesn’t Work
Chances are the agile methodology discussion is growing rapidly on your university or
college. You may already have curriculum dedicated to Agile. Changing corporate
culture of system development is difficult. This would be an opportune time to discuss
how these changes will affect the development teams.

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Chapter 2 Project Selection & Management

Answer to Concepts in Action 2-F: Trade-Offs

1. In considering the trade-offs among the factors of functionality, time and money,
it’s important to realize that a change in one of these factors affects the other two.
Increasing functionality will most certainly increase the time and money needed
to complete the project. Decreasing time or money will most certainly affect
either the level or quality of the functionality in the finished project.

2. The project was considered successful from a ‘product’ standpoint, in that it met
the business needs for which it was meant. However, once the time frame had
been established, the project manager might have gone back to the clients and
reworked the requirements, or the scope of the project. This would have provided
the development team with realistic goals and perhaps would have produced a
product that could have been used more than once.

Answer to Concepts in Action 2- G: Poor Naming Standards

Student answers will vary depending upon their programming experience, syntax
language, and code comments. This is a great time to reinforce the concept of standards.

Solutions to End of Chapter Questions

1. Describe how projects are selected in organizations.

An organization will base the selection of a project on an evaluation not only of the
project’s costs and expected benefits, but also the technical and organizational risks
that have been identified for the project. Both the systems request and feasibility
analysis can provide that type of information.

2. Describe how project portfolio management is used by IT departments.

Portfolio management is the process of determining the mix of project types that will
maximize benefit to the organization, while minimizing risks and costs to the
organization. Included in portfolio management is the process by which an
organization assesses how potential projects fit into the existing projects currently
underway. Ideally, the organizational project portfolio consists of both high and low
risk projects, large and small projects, etc.

3. Describe the major elements and issues with waterfall development.

Waterfall development follows the phases of the life cycle in sequence (planning,
analysis, design, and implementation). Each phase is thoroughly documented and
approval is required before proceeding to the subsequent phase. It is difficult, though
not impossible, to go backwards in the SDLC under waterfall development.

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 Another random document
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her sister that she had not travelled to the East in order to be wooed and
wed, and that any attempt to find her a husband would be fruitless, if not
disastrous.
“Everyone seems to think that when a girl goes to India she puts herself up
in the marriage market!” she declared. “Well, my dear, there is a reserve on
me!”
Ida Dacre was fully as quick as Bobby Lovett in grasping the position of the
collector, and she (privately) made great fun of the little tin god and his
worshippers, and held herself aloof from him, in a manner so remarkable
that his interest was awakened. “Here, at least,” he said to himself, “is one
girl who pointedly avoids me—snubs me—when we do meet, and plainly
cannot endure the sight of me! I wonder what I have done, or left undone?”
Miss Dacre had expected the much-sought-after gentleman to be
abominably conceited, egotistical and spoiled, but one day, when they were
both sheltering in a “tope” from a shower, she was agreeably surprised to
discover that his opinion of himself was of the humblest—that he had been
at school—and in the same house—with her pet brother, and that he really
was not at all bad! She suffered him to ride back with her to the
cantonment, and at an early date permitted her sister to invite him to dinner.
Miss Dacre was a pretty girl, and an accomplished musician, but she had a
mischievous sense of humour and a witty tongue. She teased the little tin
god; she flouted him, and repelled him with her jeers, whilst her merry,
mocking eyes held him fast. Edgar Lovett became her slave—he was
desperately in love, but dared not declare his sentiments, the lady being so
perplexingly reserved. Oh, if he only had one ray of hope he would have
spoken—but his goddess gave no sign. She rode with him, and quarrelled,
and danced, and laughed, and mocked, and argued—and drove the poor
fellow distracted.
He had frequently, but vainly, invited Miss Dacre and her sister to come to
tea in his bungalow, and to inspect and borrow his books. He promised
them a tempting exhibition of all his latest publications: after long demur, a
date was positively fixed. Unfortunately, just before this happy event,
Lovett was obliged to leave the cantonment for two days’ official duty in
the district. His business accomplished, he returned to Munser in a fever of
anxiety. His train was behind time, and he was desperately afraid that he
would arrive too late to receive his honoured and important guests.
Outside the station Lovett looked in vain for his smart dogcart and fast
stepper—instead of which he found one of his own peons awaiting him,
with a dusty old gharry.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, in imperious Hindustani,
“where is the cart?”
“Light of the World,” replied the man, “by your favour, the Missy Sahib
hath taken it.”
“Missy—what Miss Sahib?”
“The Missy who has been at your honour’s house this two days.”
Lovett sprang into the gharry shouting the word “Chullo!” and was soon
swept out of the station, in a cloud of dust.
Ten minutes’ galloping brought him to where his own trim yet dignified
bungalow stood, in a large compound, within a few yards of the principal
highroad; and throwing a rupee to the driver, he dashed up the steps, and
flung into the drawing-room. No, they had not arrived—the house was
empty. It was after six o’clock, and here the bearer appeared—grave-eyed,
and with a troubled mien.
“Did two ladies come for tea?” inquired Lovett.
“No, Huzoor, but one lady been here two days; breakfast, tiffin, and
dinner.”
“What?”
“Yes, she telling me she is the Sahib’s—cousin—same like sister—and
come from England.”
“There must be some mistake,” muttered Lovett, staring at the scattered
cushions, the crumpled newspapers, and stumps of cigarettes which littered
his usually neat verandah.
“Here, the Missy now coming!” announced the bearer, and he indicated
with a tragic finger the dogcart, spanking down the road, in which sat a
slim, upright, female form, wearing a jaunty sailor-hat and a gay pink frock.
The dogcart rattled into the compound, and up to the steps, and an
absolutely strange girl called out to the bewildered Lovett:
“Hullo, so there you are! So glad to see you at last!”
She threw the reins to the syce, jumped down, and was presently shaking
the collector’s limp, reluctant hand.
“Now come inside,” she said, taking him by the arm, and lifting the chick,
“and I’ll tell you all about it—I daresay you are a little bit surprised?”
Lovett, dumbfounded, stood speechless, for the moment mentally stunned,
staring into the smiling face and bold, saucy eyes of his companion.
A thick curly fringe of yellow hair peeped out beneath the sailor-hat; her
dress, though merely cotton, was elaborately trimmed, and frilled; round her
neck was a huge lace ruffle.
Her manner was but too assured—and she was apparently quite sane.
“You have heard of the Dales, your cousins?” she resumed.
He nodded.
“Well, they are my cousins too. I came out to stay with friends—not far
from here—and they have measles, and could not take me in. So I cast
about what to do, and thought of you, Teddy Lovett. Everyone knows how
good-natured you are, and such a ladies’ man—and so here I am, taking you
by storm! By the way, can I have a whisky and soda?”
“Certainly. Boy, peg loa!”
The bearer promptly entered, and the refreshment was presented to the lady,
who swallowed half a tumblerful at a gulp.
“Of course,” she resumed with a smirk, “if I were at home I could not billet
myself on you like this. But in India, I believe, there are no silly
conventions; the Dales said you were an awfully good sort, and——”
“And of course,” broke in Lovett, “I am glad to have it in my power to
oblige any friend of theirs——”
“Cousin,” corrected the lady.
“But India is not at all so unconventional as you suppose, Miss—er——”
“Ruby Scarlett,” she supplemented quickly.
“And so, Miss Scarlett, I will find quarters elsewhere, and leave you the
house to yourself—until your friends think it possible to receive you. If you
want anything you will hear of me at the Dâk Bungalow—and meanwhile
pray make yourself quite at home.”
“Thanks, awfully—you are really too dear and kind for words! By rights, I
should go to the Dâk Bungalow, but I’m a little afraid of the fowl! I don’t
know why, but one always hears that one should give a Dâk Bungalow fowl
a wide berth. I suppose they are savage?”
“If you will excuse me, I will go and make some arrangements,” rejoined
Lovett, in a chilly voice, totally ignoring her question; and with a bow he
turned to depart. As he reached the door, his ears were saluted by a shrill
whistle. He looked quickly round, and beheld Miss Ruby Scarlett, minus
hat and wig—and, grinning above her white ruffle, the impudent face of his
brother Bobby!
“Took a jolly good rise out of you, didn’t I?” he cried.
“Yes,” with an air of relief; “but what in heaven’s name is the meaning of
this dressing-up, and tom-foolery?”
“Sit down there and have a cheroot, and pull yourself together, old man, and
you shall hear. I declare you look—completely shattered!”
“Enough to shatter anyone!” pointing to his brother’s costume. “What does
it all mean? I’m no good at dumb crambo, or charades.”
“It means, dear brother, that I am here as your ‘scarecrow.’ My office is to
keep the birds off—in other words, the ladies, and I have succeeded to a
miracle!”
“Good Lord, Bobby, what have you been up to?” demanded Lovett, in
genuine alarm.
“Well, listen to my little tale”; crossing his legs, and proceeding with an air
of easy narration. “I have earned that rifle nobly—as you shall hear.”
“Go on,” said his brother huskily, “tell me the worst—and get it over.”
“The worst?” echoed Bobby. “There is no worst! It’s the best joke I’ve ever
known, bar none—a screaming farce.
“We are great at theatricals on the Bobadil, quite a floating Haymarket. We
had been playing a piece called ‘Topsy-Turvy’ in which I had a star part,
first leading lady, and I yearned to show myself to you—and take you in. So
when we got to Bombay this cruise, I put in for a week ashore, collected a
box of properties, borrowed the bearer of a chum in the Yacht Club, and
persuaded him to bring along his old wife as my ayah. Then we all took the
train for Munser. I made up in the carriage—started a man in flannels,
stepped out a giddy girl in frills and curls! I declare when the bearer came
to the door, and saw me, he nearly had a fit! Well, I drove straight up here
and I was awfully sold not to find you; but I sent them all flying about, and
ordered tea in the verandah. Presently I went out, and spread myself there,
in a sort of blazing scarlet tea-gown—a thing you could see a mile off! It
had the desired effect—it fetched the station! They rode, and biked, and
drove by—all staring, in the rudest and most shameless manner. I kissed my
hand to one of the men—he looked like the Padre; another was for coming
in—but I waved him off!”
Lovett’s half-stifled groan was unheeded, and possibly unheard.
“The funniest thing was a landau, packed full of women—an excited old
lady and some girls. They went by at a trot, then turned, and came back at a
walk; finally, and lastly, a crawl. I believe they found it impossible to realise
me! The old girl put up a big double eyeglass and fixed me with an
expression of such ferocity, that in self-defence I snatched a saucer, stuck it
in my eye, and gazed back with such killing effect that she collapsed—
completely repulsed—and shouted to the coachman, ‘Full steam ahead!’
leaving me with the honours of war! Then, yesterday, I put on my own togs,
and went for a ride in the morning, and called in at the club. There were a
few men there, discussing the figure in the collector’s verandah. They were
inclined to have it that it was stuffed! Of course this point of view was fatal
to my scheme. So yesterday evening I turned out in the dogcart in a flaring
hat and frock, and spanked about the station, and down to the polo, and up
to the cricket-field—not much sign of a stuffed figure there. Several people
accosted me, but I only replied in French. Thanks to our nurse I speak it like
a native. I smoked a cigarette, and dashed recklessly about the cantonment
—and have, I flatter myself, given them something to talk about. This
afternoon I was feeling rather dull, and was lying on a lounge, reading and
half-asleep, and wondering when you would appear, when the bearer
entered, and whispered that two Mem Sahibs were in the drawing-room—
come to tea! I pulled myself together, and peeped through a hole in the
purdah. There was the Major’s wife, and another lady, a tall, dark girl, with
a ripping figure, cruising about the room as if the place belonged to her!
She was examining your little family gods, photos, pet ink-bottle, books,
and your last new photo just arrived——”
“Well?” demanded his brother breathlessly.
“Well, I ordered in tea, and hurried off to my bower to titivate—as here I
was at close quarters, you see, and had to be careful! I settled on my wig
and hat, lace tie, and bead chains; I powdered my nose, and put a good bit
of colour on my cheeks—for it was now going to be war to the knife! These
women had boldly boarded the ship, and I was determined to scuttle their
craft.”
“Oh, Bobby, you idiot! you have ruined me!”
“Not a bit of it. Be calm, and listen. When I pranced into the room the two
ladies stared as if I were some wild beast. ‘So pleased to see you,’ I said;
‘so sweet and good of you to call on me! I’ve been feeling a bit chippy all
by my little lone.’
“‘We did not know we were to have this pleasure,’ said the dark girl,
breathing hard, and white as a sheet—very angry, I could see. ‘Mr. Lovett
invited us over to tea this afternoon and to see his books.’
“‘His books!’ I rejoined. ‘What an imposter! His only books are woman’s
looks!’
“‘Indeed,’ she snapped. ‘Nevertheless, I notice a good many volumes here,’
and she pointed to the shelves that line this room.
“‘Mr. Lovett, I gather, is not at home,’ said Mrs. Lawrence, speaking for the
first time, and looking as stiff as a ramrod.
“‘Alas, no!’ I replied in my most effective theatrical manner.”
Lovett senior had jumped to his feet, and was now pacing the room, whilst
Lovett junior, lolling in a long chair, with a cigarette between his fingers,
related his experience with unquestionable unction.
“I went on to say that my name was Ruby Scarlett, that I had come out to
‘do’ India, and as I had known Mr. Lovett very, very intimately at home, my
first visit was naturally to him; and I was frightfully disappointed to have
lost two days of his society—but I was expecting him every moment.
“‘Did he know you were coming to-day?’ the dark one asked me point-
blank, and her eyes were so piercing I could not bring out a lie, and so I
said:
“‘No, I am a pleasant surprise! Now,’ I added, fumbling for the tea-pot, ‘let
me give you some tea. Mr. Lovett is my cousin, I want to do the honours of
his house nicely.’
“But they would not stay—not a little bit of it; nothing would induce them
to remain, and they were so stiff and fierce they riled me, and I said:
“‘Ah, I see how it is! Perhaps you’d rather have something else—whisky
and soda—and cigarettes. Pray don’t hesitate; really, I’m not a bit prudish.’
“‘No, thank you,’ said the dark one, ‘I do not smoke—nor do I ever drink
whisky and soda. We are immensely obliged to you for so kindly doing the
honours of your cousin’s house—we had no conception of the agreeable
surprise Mr. Lovett had arranged for us—or that he had such a refined and
distinguished visitor! Good-afternoon.’ And with that, my dear sir, she
made me a most elegant bow, and sailed out, followed by her sister! If ever
I saw two women shaking the dust off their feet, as they left your
compound, it was those ladies. I expect they came to borrow your piano, or
a pony, or your cook. Well, I flatter myself they won’t trouble you again!”
Lovett was now sitting down, with his head between his hands, in an
attitude that expressed the most measureless despair!
“Hullo, old boy!” cried his brother, wheeling about, “what’s up? What has
happened?”
“Everything that could spoil my life has happened,” he said, raising his face
to his brother’s astonished gaze. “You have ruined me! Yes, this is the result
of your infernal practical joking, and tom-fool craze.”
“My what-t? I don’t understand,” stammered Bobby. “When I was here
before, you were nearly crazy with all this plague of women. I thought if I
came down, and dressed up a bit, it would be a lark, and——”
“And——?”
“Well, I see I have gone too far, and I’m awfully sorry; but it was such
splendid fun—I’ve never known anything to touch it.”
“Play to you, and death to me!”
“Of course I’ve overdone it. I kept acting, and feeling as if I were on the
stage. I forgot my audience. I’m frightfully sorry, old boy; what can I do to
make amends?”
“Nothing whatever, the mischief is done—and of all people Mrs. Lawrence
and her sister! Their visit was long promised—they have never come
before, often as I asked them.”
“Then you wanted them to come?”
“There is nothing in the world I want so much as for Miss Dacre to come
here—and stay for good. She is the only girl in the world for me.”
“Oh, my hairy aunt! And I’ve put my foot in it nicely!”
“She came out since your last trip, and was always very cool and reserved,
yet the first day I saw her I knew she was my fate. I’d have spoken long
ago, only she never gave me the slightest encouragement. By degrees, I got
to know her better. I was invited there, and as a great favour she promised
to come here, and choose some books. I looked on this as a hopeful step—a
good omen. It was arranged that she and her sister were to come to-day—
my beastly train was three hours late. Well, she came, and found you,
painted, and bragging, and offering cigarettes and whisky! Do you think she
will ever speak to me again? She will believe I have insulted her on
purpose. You’d better go back to your ship, Bobby; you have done enough
mischief to last for some time.”
“I must go to-night, anyhow,” rejoined Bobby, “my leave is up,” and
gathering up his hat and wig he scampered out of the room.
Once in his own apartment, Bobby lit another cigarette, and sat down to
meditate. His round, merry face looked unusually grave and thoughtful. At
last he had made up his mind. He called his bearer, and ordered a gharry.
Then he replaced his wig and hat and veil, desiring his servant to pack his
effects and leave out his own clothes. Having given these orders, he
scrambled into the conveyance, and told the man to drive to Major
Lawrence’s—“Jeldi!”

As was only to be expected, Miss Dacre and her sister returned from their
unpleasant encounter in a condition of high and talkative indignation.
They were seated in the verandah, still discussing their amazing experience,
when Miss Dacre, suddenly pointing with a trembling hand, exclaimed:
“Why, I believe the creature is actually coming over here!”
“She is,” assented Mrs. Lawrence. “I recognise her pink frock. She is
returning our call—like Royalty—within the hour. Fly, fly, Ida, and tell the
bearer ‘Darwaza-Bund!’”
But unfortunately Ida was too late—one moment too late. Miss Scarlett had
already descended, had bustled up the steps, and screamed out:
“I say, I want to speak to you, Miss Dacre! I wish to see you alone!”
Miss Dacre drew herself up; her face and air stiffened.
“Please, please,” urged the caller, under her breath; “it is of the greatest
importance.”
“Oh, very well, come into the dining-room,” said the other, with a
somewhat ungracious air. What could this fearful person possibly have to
say to her—alone! As soon as they had entered the room the visitor began:
“Mr. Lovett has returned. He is raging mad with me. I’ve made one of my
usual awful blunders, and I’ve come over here post-haste to apologise to
you.”
Miss Dacre, still standing, merely bowed her head like a sea-tossed iceberg.
“I got hold of the wrong end of the stick!” resumed the stranger, “and now I
want to explain. You see—I’m Lovett’s brother—just dressed up, and, as he
says—playing the fool!”
Miss Dacre stared for a moment—then as he tore off his hat and wig, and
stood revealed, she suddenly sat down and burst into a scream of hysterical
laughter—the laughter of misery relieved.
“Well, I’m awfully glad you are taking it like that!” he said, also seating
himself, “and I do hope you and your sister will forgive me.”
“But what possessed you to do it?” she gasped out.
“Oh, I’m always doing queer things. I’ve loved playing jokes ever since I
could speak. I act a bit, and as I’m rather short and smooth-faced, in the
ship’s theatricals I play the young lady. I am quite a star! I’ve just come
ashore from our last cruise, where I made a splendid hit as Miss Ruby
Scarlett!”
“But what put it into your head to play the part here?” demanded the girl.
“Well, now,” drawing his chair six inches nearer, and dropping his voice
into a key of easy confidence, “you know my brother Ted, what an awfully
soft-hearted, good-natured, unselfish beggar he is? He was always the same,
and when I stopped here some months ago I found he was just preyed upon
by half the ladies in the station. One wanted his ponies, another his dirzee, a
third his piano, and so on—and all desired his company! I declare he could
not call his soul his own. He is stiff enough with men—but with women he
is just like a bit of putty. He is afraid of you all—he respects the lot of you!
You see, we have no sisters, and he is so chivalrous and humble that you
impose upon him! He was having rather a bad time when I came—a chit or
a message or a call every ten minutes—and so I offered to rid him of the
plague of women—half in joke, half in earnest, you see. Then I was so
delighted with myself as Miss Ruby Scarlett, that a brilliant idea struck me.
I’d rush down to Munser for a couple of days—take a rise out of him, and
scare away his visitors!”
“Yes,” assented the lady, and her eyes danced.
“You agree with me it was a temptation! He was away, as you know, and I
played, in one respect, to an empty house, but I had ripping fun, and I’ve
scandalised his bearer nearly to death. Well, now Edgar is back. I took him
in properly at first. Lord! you should have seen his face! and heard his
frosty welcome! When I discovered myself, at first he was shocked. I’m
used to that—that is nothing—but when he heard of your and your sister’s
call, he was most frightfully cut up. I never saw him so bowled over. He has
told me to clear! But before I depart to-night—and I must—leave up—I
want to make a clean breast, and apologise to you.”
“But why more to me than to my sister?”
“My dear Miss Dacre, though you ask the question you know the answer.
Because Edgar thinks there is no one in all the world like you. I suppose he
has not dared to tell you himself, but I tell you—he is a gone coon!” Miss
Dacre suddenly became scarlet. “I—I—mean that he loves you with all his
heart and soul, and all that sort of thing. He has never cared a snap for any
girl before—and never will again—and I’ve been and gone and ruined his
life! Oh, Miss Dacre,” suddenly pouncing on her hand, “do give me a little,
little scrap of hope to take him—you don’t know what a good fellow he is
—then he’ll forgive me, and I’ll cut my cable with such a jolly light heart!”
Ida Dacre stared. This was her first proposal, and it was being made second-
hand, by an impudent, curly-haired middy, masquerading in a gaudy cotton
frock and mittens.
No, no, the whole thing was too much like a burlesque! Bobby—she had
heard of him—was once more imagining himself behind the footlights, and
playing a part. She made a violent effort, and dragged away her hand.
“I think your high spirits run away with you, Mr. Lovett,” she said stiffly. “I
forgive you for your joke—but I really cannot suffer you to take any further
liberties. Let me advise you to resume your own identity—and to cut your
cable without delay.”
Bobby flushed to the roots of his rust-coloured hair; he gulped down
something in his throat, and said:
“I know quite well that I deserve to be put in irons. I’m thinking of Edgar,
and how I’ve damaged his cause—acted as a first-class, double-armour-
plated destroyer. Won’t you give me one word—half a word?”
“Certainly not—pray why should I?”
“I will tell you,” again seizing her hand. “When you called this afternoon I
peeped at you and Mrs. Lawrence through a hole in the purdah.”
“Oh, did you, indeed!” she said, becoming as red as a rose. “What a nice
gentlemanly thing to do!”
“Yes, I just ‘took an observation,’ as we say. I saw your sister looking at the
books and prints. You came to the writing-table, directly under my eye;
there was a pile of Edgar’s new photographs on it—just unpacked. They are
rather ripping, I’ll allow. You took up one and gazed at it, and then—ahem!
—when no one was looking you put it to your lips—you know you did—
you kissed him!”
Mrs. Lawrence at this moment stood in one of the many doorways, and
beheld a red-haired boy in petticoats sitting close to her sister, holding her
hand in a tight grip, and speaking with forcible emphasis.
She caught the words, “You kissed him!” and poor Ida’s face was scarlet.
The lady paused, dropped the screen quietly, and crept cautiously away,
marvelling much at what she had heard and seen.
“Oh, you odious boy!” exclaimed Miss Dacre angrily.
“Yes, you may think me as odious as they make ’em, and call me any name
you jolly well please, as long as you are nice to Edgar.”
“If you ever tell him——” she began in a choked voice, “if you ever——”
“I swear on my solemn word of honour, as an officer in his Majesty’s Navy,
that I never, never will. Is it Pax?”
“I suppose so—but, remember, I bind myself to nothing.”
Bobby stooped, in his best dramatic style, and bowed over her hand—which
he released. Then he stood up and looked about for his hat, which he put on,
stuffing the wig in his pocket.
“My train goes at seven o’clock,” he announced, “and I must be off. Will
you give me a bit of a note so that Edgar and I may part friends?”
“I never came across such a boy!” she declared, as she moved to the
writing-table.
Bobby watched her as she scribbled a few lines. Miss Ida was uncommonly
handsome, and had a lovely little straight nose and long eyelashes. So she
was fond of Edgar after all!
“There, will this do?” she asked, holding it out.
“D M .L ,
 “Your brother has just been here, and explained the situation. I
have forgiven him, and I hope you will do the same. My sister
will be very pleased if you will dine with us this evening, at
eight o’clock.
“Yours sincerely,
“I D .”
“Yes,” exclaimed Bobby, “that is all right. But, I say—what a cram about
your sister!”
“Not at all,” coolly responded the lady, putting the note into an envelope,
“not at all; she is always pleased to see your brother. Now here is the note. I
hope,” with an ironical smile, “you have got all you want?”
“No, not yet—I want something else.”
As she stared at him interrogatively, he suddenly bent forward and kissed
her audibly on the cheek, and before Miss Dacre had recovered from her
astonishment at his audacity, Bobby was already in the gharry, waving
wildly from the window as he rattled away.
The next time Mr. R. Lovett appeared in Munser, it was to enact the
responsible rôle of best man—which part he played with the most
commendable decorum.
The Lawrence family, and one or two others, were in the secret of “Miss
Ruby Scarlett”—but the station, when hard up for a topic, still discourses of
the mysterious, mad French lady who invaded the collector’s bungalow, and
then disappeared. To Bobby Lovett the whole story was solemnly related by
Mrs. Tompkins, and Bobby as solemnly gave it as his opinion that the
amazing creature who flashed into the station for two days was a visitant
from another world—possibly from the vast deep!
 XI
THE OLD TOWN HOUSE
O a certain damp October evening in Dublin, not very long ago, a tall girl
of two and twenty stood by Nelson’s pillar, obviously awaiting the arrival
of a tram; her threadbare waterproof, and rusty felt hat, hinted at a low
exchequer, and were but a mean accompaniment to a pair of splendid grey
eyes and a brilliant complexion; in fact, such an attractive and arresting face
was not often to be encountered even in a city justly celebrated for its pretty
women. Tram after tram arrived, discharged passengers, and departed
crammed to the doors, but still the girl’s friend came not.
At last “Patience at the foot of a monument” had its reward. An active,
curly-headed young man sprang from a still-moving Donnybrook car, and
hastened to join her with outstretched hands.
“I am most frightfully sorry, Bridge,” he began; “could not get off till now
—such a heavy day at the Bank. I got your note.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” she answered cheerfully, “I just wanted to have a little
talk with you about Granny.”
“Yes, so you said,” he assented, as they turned out of the crowd, and walked
away at a brisk pace in the direction of Rutland Square.
Denis D’Arcy and Bridget Doyne had known one another all their lives;
their people came from the same county, and were distantly connected. The
D’Arcys were a military race, and had gained more glory than gold; the
Doynes of Castle Doyne, on the contrary, owned a vast estate, and were
once renowned for keeping hounds and racehorses, and dispensing the
almost princely hospitality of old times. Both the D’Arcys and Doynes had
come down in the world by many and painful degrees; their names were
almost forgotten, and their places knew them no more. These two were the
last representatives of the D’Arcy and Doyne families; one was a bank clerk
at a salary of a hundred and twenty pounds a year; the other lived with her
grandmother, an old lady of eighty, whose exquisite needlework brought
them a little bread and tea, whilst the girl herself gave sixpenny music-
lessons in their humble neighbourhood, and read the daily papers to a blind
old gentleman, and for her services received three shillings a week.
In spite of their poor circumstances and shabby clothes, the young couple
presented a surprisingly contented appearance, as they hurried along
through the soft autumn mist. The pair were engaged, and deeply in love
with one another; the mere fact of being together stood for complete, if
transitory, happiness.
“You say that Granny wishes to see me most particularly,” said D’Arcy;
“have you any idea what it’s about?—has anything extra happened?”
“Yes, Denis, to both your questions. We have come to an acute financial
crisis—that is not new—and Mr. Eale, the solicitor, has been to call on
Gran, and made himself most odious, and disagreeable. He threatens all
sorts of things.”
“Eale is a ‘shark lawyer’—a rich rascal who gets his living by money-
lending, taking up shady cases, and grinding the faces of the poor. Granny
should not have anything to do with such a rotter—or let him inside her
doors.”
“I know, and I cannot bear the sight of him,” replied Bridget. “As to
Granny’s door, there is no real door in a tenement house; and he stalks
down our passage, raps with his stick, and drops in about once a week. He
brought Gran a basket of grapes the other day—we sold them!”
“Granny should have flung them at his head, and she would—if she knew
as much about him as I do.”
“I’m pretty sure she knows something of him now; he came yesterday, and
stayed over an hour. I kept away all the time, and after he had gone I found
Gran crying. Denis,” and she hesitated for a moment, “it’s terrible to see an
old person cry! Oh, look—here is Mr. Eale coming out of Mountjoy
Square!”
“Talk of the devil—so he is! Ah, he funks meeting us. See, he has crossed
the road, and is going into one of those houses.”
Mr. Eale was a short, thick-set individual of about fifty, with heavy brows
and a square jaw; he looked well dressed and prosperous, and walked with a
sort of swaggering strut. He glanced over his shoulder as he waited on the
doorstep, and threw the young couple a baleful glare.

Old Mrs. Doyne had known a grave change of fortune; from mistress of a
fine country place she had sunk by gradual but irresistible forces to two
bare rooms, in what had once been the town house of the Doynes, and here
she eked out a precarious livelihood with her wonderfully clever fingers.
The slow descent had taken fifty years to accomplish; gradual and almost
imperceptible at first; the latter phase a breathless rush. Sophia Doyne was a
proud woman, and had taken extraordinary pains to hide her troubles and
whereabouts from her few surviving friends, who had a vague impression
that “Sophy Doyne and her granddaughter lived somewhere in England,” or
even that the old lady was already dead!
The family mansion, which was situated in the neighbourhood of Mountjoy
Square, had once upon a time been one of the finest houses on the north
side. Who would think so, to behold it now! The rusty area railings were
bent and broken, the areas littered with old hampers, tin cans, and broken
crockery; the hall door stood wide, and half a dozen noisy children were
playing hop-scotch in the great flagged vestibule. Beyond this, a pair of
double doors had once opened into a smaller hall, but the doors of
handsome mahogany were now in America. A great winding staircase with
shallow stone steps led up to the drawing-rooms—from which now
descended an overpowering odour of bad tobacco, and fried herrings. The
walls of both halls and staircase were of stucco, very dirty and discoloured,
but an exquisite frieze still survived, and gave an impression of processions
of beautifully modelled classical figures—mostly in a condition of
unassuming nudity!
Miss Doyne and her companion did not ascend to the first floor, but turned
into a long flagged passage—papered with a hideous stone-grey pattern—
out of which opened several rooms. In the first of these, Mrs. Doyne was
discovered seated at a large mahogany table which was strewn with skeins
of silks and ragged paper patterns. By the light of an old-fashioned lamp,
she was busily engaged in embroidering an exquisite tea-cloth in various
shades of blue.
As she raised her eyes, when the door opened, it was pitiful to see their
faded colour, and red-rimmed lids—the toll of work and tears. A cap of real
lace crowned her white hair, and a little knitted shawl was closely drawn
round her bent shoulders. The old lady was woefully small and shrunken,
but she had delicate features, and, for all her squalid surroundings, a certain
air of distinction.
“Oh, Denis,” she exclaimed, “I’m mighty glad to see you. Take off your
coat and warm yourself.” Then, looking over her shoulder, “Faith, I forgot;
there’s no fire! We are a bit short of coal, and I can’t stand the smell of that
oil stove—though it boils a kettle. Biddy, my heart, will you go and get tea,
and make us a bit of toast at the end of the passage? That is, as you know,”
to D’Arcy, “our kitchen.”
“Shall I lend a hand?”
“No, no, you stay with me, Denis; you’ll only hinder her. Biddy’s a grand
maid-of-all-work, since poor Peggy died.”
“Poor Peggy!—she must have been a great age—though she always looked
the same, as long as I can remember.”
“That’s only six and twenty years, and Peggy was over ninety; she was
active to the last, but her mind was gone—she could not remember
anything, except what happened fifty years ago.”
“Yes,” agreed Bridget, “and she was always telling us that somewhere or
other there was what was called ‘a power of money’ in this house!”
“A house as bare as a picked bone,” said Mrs. Doyne; “but Bridgie, my
dear, why are you not getting the tea?”
As soon as she had left the room, the old lady put down her work, and,
looking at Denis over her spectacles, said:
“That Eale man has been coming here pretty often lately with one excuse or
other.”
“So I’ve heard. What does he want?”
“He wants to marry Bridget.”
“What!” shouted D’Arcy.
“Yes, he made me a regular formal offer, sitting there in the same chair just
where you are now. He said he could give his wife a fine house out on
Lansdowne Road, and a motor—and make me a liberal allowance.” She
paused.
“And what did you say?”
“Nothing. It takes a good deal now to make me laugh, but I laughed till I
nearly choked, and couldn’t speak; at last I said, ‘So this is the reason of
your visits, and the presents of grapes.’ He nodded quite at his ease. ‘Do
you know who my granddaughter is?’ I asked, and he said:
“‘Oh yes, a girl without a second gown to her back, who gives the
greengrocer’s children lessons for sixpence an hour.’
“‘That’s true,’ I agreed, ‘but she is a Doyne of Castle Doyne; her
grandfather was High Sheriff of the county.’
“‘And her grandmother does her own washing,’ he put in, as rude as could
be.
“‘She does,’ I replied, ‘and your grandmother was her kitchenmaid; but this
sort of talk is foolish. My granddaughter is engaged to Mr. D’Arcy—one of
her own class.’
“‘Then she’s a mad fool!’ he roared. He was furious, and, indeed, so was I.
There was not a pin to choose between us; he said so many hateful things
that at last I told him to go, and never again darken my doors.
“‘These doors are mine,’ he said, ‘and it is you who will go—not me. I’ve,
as you know, a mortgage on this old barrack. I’ve not had a penny interest
for two years; it’s a case of five hundred pounds, and interest, cash down,
within a month, or I turn you into the street, you and your stuck-up lunatic
of a granddaughter.’
“‘Well,’ I answered, ‘it’s the street for you to-day,’ and I got up and curtsied
him out.”
“That was all right.”
“He will pay me back. I saw it in his face. Within four weeks I’ll have no
home, for where am I to get five hundred pounds?” and she cast her eyes
round the room, which was not large, but lofty, well-proportioned, and
furnished with a few chairs, a decrepit sideboard, and black horsehair sofa.
“I stripped the house soon after we came here six years ago. I sold every
mortal thing I could sell, to a dealer, I was so hard-set for ready money. The
mahogany doors in the hall, dining-room, and upstairs, the two beautiful
marble chimney-pieces in the drawing-room, the door-plates, and the
French mirrors let into the walls between the windows; the whole place was
terribly hacked and knocked about. Now there is nothing left; I’ve come to
the end of everything, my dear boy. You know our circumstances just as
well as I do myself—how my husband’s grandfather lived like a king, and
got his wine and his furniture from France, and drove four horses. He was
an attaché in Paris as a young man, and spoke French like a native. The next
Doyne fell on worse times, and his mother Madame lived here in shameless
extravagance and debt. After she died, the furniture was sold and the house
let, till the north side went down, and this, and many another fine mansion,
were left to rats and ruin.”
“Yes, that’s true, and more’s the pity.”
“When I was a bride at Castle Doyne I had my carriage, and a houseful of
servants, but we found debts, and mortgages, and heavy jointures, small
rents, and bad times; it was all we could do to educate Bridget’s father, and
get him into the Army. He went to India, and then he married a girl without
a penny, and they died and left me the child—and here I am, an old blind
pauper.”
“For goodness’ sake stop your eternal needle,” said the young man
suddenly. “Do give your poor eyes a rest. I can’t bear to see you sewing so
hard, and always sewing.”
“There will soon be an end,” she replied, spreading out the embroidered
border. “This is my last piece; and here is what I’m coming to, and why I
want to talk to you privately. You told me you had a good chance of a post,
as cashier in an Indian bank; they would pay your passage out, and give a
much better salary?”
He nodded.
“Well, Denis, you must accept, and marry Bridget, and take her away with
you. She’s a clever manager, and will make one rupee go as far as two. You
are both young, and have, I hope, many happy years before you.”
“And what about you?”
The old lady suddenly laid down her work, and, leaning over the table,
whispered:
“Don’t be horrified—I shall go into the North Dublin Union.”
“Never! never! never!” he rejoined, with emphasis.
“Hush—yes, I shall! What does it matter? Who will know? If old Peg was
alive it would be different. I dared not have taken her there—she’d feel it.
Now my feelings are dead. I’m old; my race is run. I’ve outlived my
contemporaries, and the only thing I really and truly care for is Bridget’s
future—and yours.”
“You don’t suppose we should be happy out in India, knowing we had
deserted you, and left you in a poor-house! Come, now—do you?”
“I won’t be a clog——”
Whatever she was about to add was interrupted by the sound of a muffled
kick on the door. D’Arcy sprang to open it, and admitted Bridget looking
rather flushed, and carrying the tea-things on a battered black tray.
“Oh, such a job to make the kettle boil!” she announced, setting it down.
“What have you two been plotting?” and she looked from one to the other.
“Your Granny’s plans,” replied the young man mendaciously. “If she is
turned out from here, there are two rooms to let in my diggings in Lower
Gardiner Street—cheap, too, and a fine old wreck of a house, next a
pawnbroker’s—if you won’t mind that?”
“Not at all—it would be mighty convenient,” rejoined the old lady, with a
shrill laugh. “But rooms cost money. Here I’ve been rent free; so have my
tenants upstairs; they tell me they cannot pay anything, and are just keeping
soul and body together like ourselves—and I have not the heart to evict
them.”
“Who are they? They seem a pretty big crowd.”
“Well, there’s a car-driver in the drawing-rooms; he has six children; above
that, there’s a charwoman and her paralysed daughter. In the back rooms