“Mrs. Gregg!” he shouted. “Mrs. Gregg! Just one moment. I’ve got a capital suggestion to make, one to which there can be no possible objection from any point of view.” He ran downstairs. Father McCormack went to the door and looked after him. Then he turned and addressed the Major. “You might go a long journey,” he said, “before you’d meet the equal of the doctor.” The Major received this remark in silence. He was of opinion that a man who went a long journey in order to discover a second Dr. O’Grady would be a fool. “Tell me this,” said Father McCormack. “What relation is Mary Ellen to the General?” “I’ve never been able to make that out for certain. Sometimes I’m told she’s his niece, and sometimes his grand-niece.” Father McCormack looked round him cautiously and sank his voice to a whisper. “Is she any relation at all?” he said slowly. “No more than you are to the Sultan of Turkey.” “I was thinking as much myself,” said Father McCormack. Dr. O’Grady, having finished his talk with Mrs. Gregg, entered the room again. “I’ve settled that matter satisfactorily anyhow,” he said. “It occurred to me just after Mrs. Gregg had left the room, that some sort of fancy dress for the girl would be likely to please the Lord-Lieutenant, and would be a compromise which both ladies could accept without loss of dignity. Mary Ellen is to be rigged out as a traditional Irish colleen, the sort you see on the picture postcards they sell to tourists in Dublin. Mrs. Gregg is delighted, and Mrs. Ford can’t possibly say that a crimson flannel skirt won’t be useful to her afterwards. She’ll look uncommonly well, and the Lord-Lieutenant will be all the more inclined to believe that the General was an Irishman when he sees his niece——” “Tell me this,” said Father McCormack, “is she a niece of the General or is she not?” “The grand-niece,” said Dr. O’Grady. “She’s neither the one nor the other,” said the Major. Dr. O’Grady glanced at Father McCormack. He saw by the look on the priest’s face that there was no use trying to prove Mary Ellen’s relationship. He laughed good-naturedly, and at once offered a satisfactory explanation of the position. “Mr. Billing,” he said, “insisted on our producing some sort of relative for the dead General. He wouldn’t have given that £100 if we hadn’t. Now what I say is this——” “You’d say anything,” said the Major. “I’m not talking to you now, Major. I’m talking to Father McCormack, who’s a man of sense, with some knowledge of the world. The way I’m putting it to him is this: Supposing there was a job going a begging, a nice comfortable job under the Government, with no particular duties attached to it, except just to look pleasant and be generally agreeable—there are such jobs.” “Plenty, plenty,” said Father McCormack. “And they’re well paid,” said the Major.