“Granted, my Lord; he is the very calibre to run through his own, and ruin any other man's fortune.”
“Well, sir, and this is the person whose services you think it worth my while obtaining?”
“I never said so, my Lord.”
“What! did n't I hear you this moment—”
“No, you heard me say that the borough is his, but you never heard me say that he ought to be its member. For that honor I had another in my eye,—one over whom your Lordship's influence has never yet been doubted.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“Tom Linton, my Lord; a very unworthy, but a most devoted partisan of your Lordship's.”
“What! Tom—you in Parliament?”
“Even so, my Lord,” said Linton, for once in his life—perhaps, the only time—that a flash of angry meaning colored his calm features. “I am sorry that the notion should so palpably wake your Lordship's amazement.”
“No—no—no! I did n't mean that. I was only surprised. In fact, you took me unawares—we were talking of Cashel.”