“I declare to you, Dunn,” said the Secretary, as he drew his arm within the other's, and walked with him into the back drawing-room, “these kind of men make government very difficult in Ireland. There is no reserve—no caution about them. They compromise one at every step. You are the only Irishman I ever met who would seem to understand the necessity of reserve.”
Dunn bowed twice. It was like the acknowledgment of what he felt to be a right.
“I go further,” said the other, warming; “you are the only man here who has given us real and effective support, and yet never asked for anything.”
“What could I wish for better than to see the country governed as it is?” said Dunn, courteously.
“All are not inspired so patriotically, Dunn. Personal advantages have their influence on most men.”
“Of course,—naturally enough. But I stand in no need of aid in this respect I don't want for means. I could n't, if you offered it, take office; my hands are too full already, and of work which another might not be able to carry out. Rank, of course—distinction—” and he stopped, and seemed confused.
“Well, come, we might meet you there, Dunn,” said the other, coaxingly. “Be frank with me. What do you wish for?”
“My family is of humble origin, it is true,” said Dunn; “but, without invidious reflection, I might point to some others—” Again he hesitated.
“That need not be an obstacle,” said the Secretary.
“Well, then, on the score of fortune, there are some poorer than myself in—in—” He stopped again.