on's own peculiar
politics,--Europe a democracy, and himself the head of it. We discussed
dinners and dinner-givers,--a race fast dying out We talked a little
finance, and, lastly, women."

"Your own theme!" said Caffarelli, with a slight inclination of the
head.

"Without vanity I might say it was. Poor old D'Orsay always said,
'Scratch M'Caskey, and I'll back myself for success against any man in
Europe.'"

Maitland started as if a viper had bitten him; but by an effort he
seemed to restrain himself, and, taking out his cigar-case, began a
diligent search for a cigar.

"Ha, cheroots, I see?" cried M'Caskey; "cheroots are a weakness of mine.
Pick me out a well-spotted one, will you?"

Maitland threw the case as it was across the table to him without a
word.

M'Caskey selected some six or eight, and laid them beside him. "You are
low, depressed, this evening, Maitland," said he; "what's the matter
with you?"

"No, sir, not depressed,--disgusted."

"Ah, disgusted!" said M'Caskey, slowly; and his small eyes twinkled like
two balls of fire. "Would it be indiscreet to ask the cause?"

"It would be very indiscreet, Count M'Caskey," interposed Caffarelli,
"to forget that you are here purely on a grave matter of business,--far
too grave to be compromised by any forgetfulness on the score of
temper."

"Yes, sir," broke in Maitland; "there can always be found a fitting time
and place to arrange any small questions outstanding between you and me.
We want now to learn something of what you have done in Ireland lately,
for the King's service."

M'Caskey drew from his pocket a much-worn pocket-book, crammed to
bursting with a variety of loose papers, cards, and photographs, which
fell about as he opened it. Not heeding the disorder, he sought out
a particular page, and read aloud: "Embarked this twenty-second of
September, at Gravesend, on board the 'Ocean Queen,' bound for Messina
with machinery, two hundred and eleven laborers--laborers engaged for
two years--to work on the State railroads, twenty-eight do. do. on board
of the 'Star of Swansea,' for Molo de Gaeta with coals,--making, with
three hundred and eighty-two already despatched, within about thirty of
the first battalion of the Cacciatori of St Patrick."

"Well done! bravissimo!" cried Caffarelli, right glad to seize upon the
opportunity to restore a pleasanter understanding.

"There's not a man amongst them would not be taken in the Guards;
and they who