“Nothing particular. I don't suppose you care for the Cattle Show or the Royal Irish Academy?”
“Not much,—at least, I can postpone my inquiries about them. How about my place here? Are you going to give me trouble about it?”
“Your place,—your place?” muttered the other, once or twice; and then, standing up with his back to the fire, and his skirts over his arms, he went on. “Do you want to hear the truth about this affair, or are we only to go on sparring with the gloves, eh?”
“The truth, of course, if such a novel proceeding should not be too much of a shock to you.”
“No, I suspect not. I do a little of everything every day just to keep my hand in.”
“Well, go on now, out with this truth.”
“Well, the truth is,—I am now speaking confidentially,—if I were you I 'd not press my claim to that appointment,—do you perceive?”
“I do not; but perhaps I may when you have explained yourself a little more fully.”
“And,” continued he, in the same tone, and as though no interruption had occurred, “that's the opinion of Halkett, and Doyle, and Jocelyn, and the rest.”
“Confidentially, of course,” said Sewell, with a sneer so slight as not to be detected.