“Well, Dunn,” cried he, gayly, one morning, as he entered the carefully darkened room where the other sat, surrounded with papers and deep in affairs, “I think you may accept your bill of health, and come out of dock tomorrow. They are gazetted now, and the world as wise as yourself.”
“So I mean to do,” said Dunn. “I intend to dine with the Chancellor. What is said about the new Government?”
“Very little. There is really little to say. They are nearly the same pieces, only placed differently on the board. This trumpery cry about 'right men in right places' will lead to all kinds of confusion, since it will eternally suggest choice, which, in plain words, means newspaper dictation.”
“As good as any other dictation: better in one respect, for it so often recants its judgments,” said Dunn, sarcastically.
“Well, they are unanimous about you this morning. They are all eagerly inquiring in what way the Government propose to recognize the services of one of the ablest men and most disinterested patriots of our day.”
“I don't want anything from them,” said Dunn, testily, and walking to the window to avoid the keen, sharp glance the other bent upon him.
“The best way to get it when you do want,” said Dash-wood. “By the way, what's our new Viceroy like?”
“A very good appointment, indeed,” said Dunn, gravely.
“Oh, I don't mean that. I want to know what he is personally: is he stiff, haughty, grave, gay, stand-off, or affable?”
“I should say, from what I have seen of Lord Allington, that he is one of those men who are grave without sadness—”