When Dick Kearney waited on Cecil Walpole at his quarters in the Castle, he was somewhat surprised to find that gentleman more reserved in manner, and in general more distant, than when he had seen him as his father’s guest.
Though he extended two fingers of his hand on entering, and begged him to be seated, Walpole did not take a chair himself, but stood with his back to the fire--the showy skirts of a very gorgeous dressing-gown displayed over his arms--where he looked like some enormous bird exulting in the full effulgence of his bright plumage.
‘You got my note, Mr. Kearney?’ began he, almost before the other had sat down, with the air of a man whose time was too precious for mere politeness.
‘It is the reason of my present visit,’ said Dick dryly.
‘Just so. His Excellency instructed me to ascertain in what shape most acceptable to your family he might show the sense entertained by the Government of that gallant defence of Kilgobbin; and believing that the best way to meet a man’s wishes is first of all to learn what the wishes are, I wrote you the few lines of yesterday.’
‘I suspect there must be a mistake somewhere,’ began Kearney, with difficulty. ‘At least, I intimated to Atlee the shape in which the Viceroy’s favour would be most agreeable to us, and I came here prepared to find you equally informed on the matter.’
‘Ah, indeed! I know nothing--positively nothing. Atlee telegraphed me, “See Kearney, and hear what he has to say. I write by post.--ATLEE.” There’s the whole of it.’
‘The letter is there. It came by the late mail, and I have not opened it.’
‘Would it not be better to glance over it now?’ said Dick mildly.
‘Not if you can give me the substance by word of mouth. Time, they tell us, is money, and as I have got very little of either, I am obliged to be parsimonious. What is it you want? I mean the sort of thing we could help you to obtain. I see,’ said he, smiling, ‘you had rather I should read Atlee’s letter. Well, here goes.’ He broke the envelope, and began:--
‘“MY DEAR MR. WALPOLE,--I hoped by this time to have had a report to make you of what I had done, heard, seen, and imagined since my arrival, and yet here I am now towards the close of my second week, and I have nothing to tell; and beyond a sort of confused sense of being immensely delighted with my mode of life, I am totally unconscious of the flight of time.