and a very jolly thing to spend, while he goes abroad to travel."

"If this news be true, Tom," said Frobisher, "I 'll quarter my yearlings
on you; there is a capital run for young horses in those flats along the
river."

"The house is cold at this season," said Meek, with a sad smile; "but I
think it would be very endurable in the autumn months. I should n't say
but you may see us here again at that time."

"I hope 'ours' may be quartered at Limerick," said an infantryman, with
a most suggestive look at the comforts of the apartment, which were a
pleasing contrast to barrack-room accommodation.

"Make yourselves perfectly at home here, gentlemen, when that good
time comes," said Linton, with one of his careless laughs. "I tell you
frankly, that if Cashel does make me such a proposal--a step which, from
his knowledge of my indolent, lazy habits, is far from likely--I only
accept on one condition."

"What is that?" cried a dozen voices.

"That you will come and pass your next Christmas here."

"Agreed--agreed!" was chorused on every side.

"I suspect from that bit of spontaneous hospitality," whispered
Frobisher to Meek, "that the event is something below doubtful."

Meek nodded.

"What is Charley saying?" cried Linton, whose quick eye caught the
glance interchanged between the two.

"I was telling Meek," said Frobisher, "that I don't put faith enough in
the condition to accept the invitation."

"Indeed!" said Linton, while he turned to the table and filled his
glass, to hide a passing sign of mortification.

"Tom Linton for a man's agent, seems pretty like what old Frederick used
to call keeping a goat for a gardener."

"You are fond of giving the odds, Frobisher," said Linton, who, for some
minutes, continued to take glass after glass of champagne; "now, what's
your bet that I don't do the honors here next Christmas-day?"

"I can't say what you mean," said Frobisher, languidly. "I've seen you
do 'the honors' at more than one table where you were the guest."

"This, I suppose, is meant for a pleasantry, my Lord?" said Linton,
while his face became flushed with passion.

"It is meant for fact," said Frobisher, with a steady coolness in his
air and accent.

"A fact! and not in jest, then!" said he, approaching where the other
sat, and speaking in a low voice.

"That's very quarrelsome wine, that dry champagne," said Frobisher,
lazily; "don't drink any more of it."

Linton tried to smile; the effor