I were you, my dear," she said in a low
voice. "Quite possibly it's all a mistake--" She turned to Mr.
Cotton, who was relapsing into trance; his eyes had followed the
movement of her hand, and were being held, hypnotically, by the
sparkle of the diamonds in her rings. "At all events," went on Mrs.
Kirby, "a general election now is very unlikely, and our valued
member--upon my word, I don't even remember his name!--isn't likely to
resign in Larry's favour, so we needn't discuss it now! I am sure, Mr.
Cotton, that you will agree with me, that the less said about it the
better; most probably the whole thing will die out and come to
nothing!" She glanced at Mrs. St. George, and perceiving that the news
had shattered her in only less degree than Frederica, she continued to
address Mr. Cotton, "Such weather! Isn't it? How does your garden like
all this rain, Mr. Cotton? Our strawberries _won't_ ripen, and as
for the poor hay--! You really ought to have prayers for fine
weather for us next Sunday!"

Mr. Cotton recalled his eyes from the diamonds with an effort. "I
will, if you like, Mrs. Kirby!" he said, looking at her, like an old
horse, down his long, deplorable nose, "but I fear they will be not of
much use, as the glawss is remorkably low!"

Prayers for the modification of the weather are often treated as a
permissible subject for mirth, and Mrs. Kirby availed herself of the
convention; even Frederica and Mrs. St. George, stricken though they
were, smiled wanly.

CHAPTER XXI

At about this time, that imposing spectacle, once described by Mrs.
Twomey as "The Big Doctor and little Danny Aherne walking the streets
of Cluhir like two paycocks," was vouchsafed to the town rather more
frequently than was usually the case. Dr. Aherne had sent a patient,
who was no less a person than the priest of the parish of Pribawn, to
the private ward of the Infirmary in Cluhir, where he would, among
other advantages, receive daily visits from Dr. Mangan. Father Sweeny
was suffering from a broken leg, and other damages; a midnight drive
to a dying parishioner had ended, disastrously, in an unguarded
road-side ditch, and Dr. Aherne had thought it best to consign a
patient of such importance to the care of hands less occupied, as well
as of higher renown, than his own.

Thus it was that the Big Doctor and his kinsman saw more of each other
than is often possible for men whose work is as widespread and
incessant as is that of Iri