on Kathleen. Mr. Colesworth went upstairs to his room not unflattered.
The flattery enveloped him in the pleasant sense of a somehow now
established companionship for the day with a pleasant person from whom he
did not wish to separate.

'You made the gentleman's acquaintance, my dear . . . ?' said Con.

Kathleen answered: 'He made friends with our Patrick on the Continent, I
think it was in Germany, and came to us to study the old country, bearing
a letter from Patrick. He means to be one of their writers on the
newspapers. He studies everything; he has written books. He called on us
coming and called on us going and we came over together,' said Miss
Kathleen. 'But tell me: our Philip?'

'Books!' Con exclaimed. 'It's hard to discover a man in these days who
hasn't written books. Oh! Philip! Ease your heart about Philip. They're
nursing him, round. He was invalided at the right moment for him, no
fear. I gave him his chance of the last vacant seat up to the last hour,
and now the die is cast and this time I 'm off to it. Poor Philip--yes,
yes! we 're sorry to see him flat all his length, we love him; he's a
gallant soldier; alive to his duty; and that bludgeon sun of India
knocked him down, and that fall from his horse finished the business, and
there he lies. But he'll get up, and he might have accepted the seat and
spared me my probation: he's not married, I am, I have a wife, and Master
Philip divides me against my domestic self, he does. But let that be: I
serve duty too. Not a word to our friend up yonder. It's a secret with a
time-fuse warranted to explode safe enough when the minutes are up, and
make a powerful row when it does. It is all right over there, Father
Boyle, I suppose?'

'A walk over! a pure ceremonial,' said the priest, and he yawned
frightfully.

'You're for a nap to recompose you, my dear friend,' remarked the
captain.

'But you haven't confided anything of it to Mrs. Adister?'

'Not a syllable; no. That's to come. There's my contest! I had urgent
business in Ireland, and she 's a good woman, always willing to let me
go. I count on her kindness, there 's no mightier compliment to one's
wife. She'll know it when it's history. She's fond of history. Ay, she
hates fiction, and so I'm proud to tell her I offer her none. She likes a
trifling surprise too, and there she has it. Oh! we can whip up the
business to a nice little bowl of froth-flummery. But it's when the
Parliamentary voting is on co