O’Shea making no reply, the other added, ‘That is, if I have not overslept dinner altogether.’ ‘I hope not, sincerely,’ rejoined the other, ‘or I shall be a partner in the misfortune.’ ‘Ah, you ‘re the Austrian,’ said Walpole, as he stuck his glass in his eye and surveyed him. ‘Yes; and you are the private secretary of the Governor.’ ‘Only we don’t call him Governor. We say Viceroy here.’ ‘With all my heart, Viceroy be it.’ There was a pause now--each, as it were, standing on his guard to resent any liberty of the other. At last Walpole said, ‘I don’t think you were in the house when that stupid stipendiary fellow called here this morning?’ ‘No; I was strolling across the fields. He came with the police, I suppose?’ ‘Yes, he came on the track of some Fenian leader--a droll thought enough anywhere out of Ireland, to search for a rebel under a magistrate’s roof; not but there was something still more Irish in the incident.’ ‘How was that?’ asked O’Shea eagerly. ‘I chanced to be out walking with the ladies when the escort came, and as they failed to find the man they were after, they proceeded to make diligent search for his papers and letters. That taste for practical joking, that seems an instinct in this country, suggested to Mr. Kearney to direct the fellows to my room, and what do you think they have done? Carried off bodily all my baggage, and left me with nothing but the clothes I’m wearing!’ ‘What a lark!’ cried O’Shea, laughing. ‘Yes, I take it that is the national way to look at these things; but that passion for absurdity and for ludicrous situations has not the same hold on us English.’ ‘I know that. You are too well off to be droll.’ ‘Not exactly that; but when we want to laugh we go to the Adelphi.’ ‘Heaven help you if you have to pay people to make fun for you!’ Before Walpole could make rejoinder, the door opened to admit the ladies, closely followed by Mr. Kearney and Dick. ‘Not mine the fault if I disgrace your dinner-table by such a costume as this,’ cried Walpole. ‘I’d have given twenty pounds if they’d have carried off yourself as the rebel!’ said the old man, shaking with laughter. ‘But there’s the soup on the table. Take my niece, Mr. Walpole; Gorman, give your arm to my daughter. Dick and I will bring up the rear.’ CHAPTER XLII AN EVENING IN THE DRAWING-ROOM