“It would seem, my Lord, that I must--whether I will or no--stand for this borough, here; there is no alternative, for you are aware that Cashel is quite unfit for public business. Each day he exhibits more and more of those qualities which bespeak far more goodness of heart than intellectual training or culture. His waywardness and eccentricity might seriously damage his own party,--could he even be taught that he had one,--and become terrible weapons in the hands of the enemy. I was speaking of Cashel, my Lord,” said Linton, as it were answering the look of inquiry in the old man's face. “I hate him, sir,” said the old peer, with a bitterness of voice and look that well suited the words. “I really cannot wonder at it,” said Linton, with a deep sigh; “such duplicity is too shocking--far too shocking--to contemplate.” “Eh! what? What did you say, sir?” cried the old man, impatiently. “I was remarking, my Lord, that I have no confidence in his sincerity; that he strikes me as capable of playing a double part.” A look of disappointment succeeded to the excited expression of the old man's face; he had evidently expected some revelation, and now his features became clouded and gloomy. “We may be unjust, my Lord,” said Linton; “it may be a prejudice on our part: others would seem to have a different estimate of that gentleman. Meek thinks highly of him.” “Who, sir? I didn't hear you,” asked he, snappishly. “Meek,--Downie Meek, my Lord.” “Pshaw!” said the old man, with a shrewd twinkle of the eye that made Linton fear the mind behind it was clearer than he suspected. “I know, my Lord,” said he, hastily, “that you always held the worthy secretary cheap; but you weighed him in a balance too nice for the majority of people--” “What does that old woman say? Tell me _her_ opinion of Cashel,” said Lord Kilgoff, rallying into something like his accustomed manner. “You know whom I mean!” cried he, impatient at Linton's delay in answering. “The old woman one sees everywhere,--she married that Scotch sergeant--” “Lady Janet MacFarline--” “Exactly, sir.” “She thinks precisely with your Lordship.” “I'm sure of it; I told my Lady so,” muttered he to himself. Linton caught the words with eagerness, and his dark eyes kindled; for at last were they nearing the territory he wanted to occupy. “Lady Kilgoff,” said he, slowly, “does not need any aid to appreciate him; she reads him thoroughly, the heartless, selfish, unprincipled spendthrift that he is.” “She does not, sir,” rejoined the old man, with a loud voice, and a stroke of his cane upon the floor that echoed through the room; “you never were more mistaken in your life. His insufferable puppyism, his reckless effrontery, his underbred familiarity, are precisely the very qualities she is pleased with,--'They are so different,' as she says, 'from the tiresome routine of fashionable manners.'” “Unquestionably they are, my Lord,” said Linton, with a smile.