''Tis as ancient as any in Ireland,' cried Wogan, in a heat, quite forgetting his incognito. 'My forefathers--'
'Ah, sir, they were kings, no doubt,' interrupted Montague with the gravest politeness.
'No, sir, viceroys only,' answered Wogan with indifference, 'up to Edward I.'
'Your Highness,' said the Colonel, and he bowed to the ground, 'I reckon to-morrow a more suitable time.'
Mr. Wogan was tickled out of his ill-humour, and began to warm to the man.
'Sure, Colonel, you and I will be the best of good friends after I have killed you, and for the love of mercy let that be to-night. Look!' and stepping to the window he drew aside the curtain. 'Look,' said he, peering out, 'it is the sweetest moonlight that ever kissed a sword-blade! Oh, to-night, Colonel!' Then he dropped the curtain something suddenly. He had seen a face in the street. 'You prefer sunlight? Very well, sir. But you will acknowledge that to-morrow I have the earliest claims on your leisure.'
Colonel Montague bowed.
'The word, you will remember, was an Irish adventurer.' Wogan impressed it upon him.
'Sir, I am wedded to the phrase. You will send your friend to my lodgings at Mrs. Kilburne's, in Ryder Street.'
'Mrs. Kilburne's!' exclaimed Wogan.