eek?"

"No; but I know the oracles were a provoking set of creatures who
answered every inquiry with an enigma. But I won't have you abuse Lord
Mallow. He has been very kind to Bullfinch, and has promised me that he
will never part with him. The dear old horse is to have a comfortable
stable and kindly treatment to his dying day--not to be sent out to
grass in his old age, to shiver in a dreary solitude, or to be scorched
by the sun and tormented by the flies."

"He has promised all that, has he? He would promise a good deal more, I
daresay," muttered Rorie, stooping over his rosebud. "Do you think him
handsome? Do women admire a fresh complexion and black whiskers, and
that unmistakable air of a hairdresser's wax model endowed with
animation?"

"I see you consider him an idiot," said Vixen laughing. "But I assure
you he is rather clever. He talks wonderfully about Ireland, and the
reforms he is going to bring about for her."

"Of course. Burke, and Curran, and Castlereagh, and O'Connell, and
fifty more have failed to steer that lumbering old vessel off the
mudbank on which she stranded at some time in the dark ages; in fact,
nobody except Oliver Cromwell ever did understand how to make Ireland
prosperous and respectable, and he began by depopulating her. And here
is a fresh-coloured young man, with whiskers _a la cotelette de
mouton_, who thinks he was born to be her pilot, and to navigate her
into a peaceful haven. He is the sort of man who will begin by being
the idol of a happy tenantry, and end by being shot from behind one of
his own hedges."

"I hope not," said Vixen, "for I am sure he means well. And I should
like him to outlive Bullfinch."

Roderick had been very happy all dinner-time. From the soups to the
ice-puddings the moments had flown for him. It seemed the briefest
dinner he had ever been at; and yet when the ladies rose to depart the
silvery chime of the clock struck the half-hour after nine. But Lord
Mallow's hour came later, in the drawing-room, where he contrived to
hover over Violet, and fence her round from all other admirers for the
rest of the evening. They sang their favourite duets together, to the
delight of everyone except Rorie, who felt curiously savage at "I would
that my love," and icily disapproving at "Greeting;" but vindictive to
the verge of homicidal mania at "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast!"

"His 'plaidie,' indeed," he ejaculated inwardly. "The creature never
possessed