“Be that as it may, Walter, the good men of the party do not side with these fellows. But I see all this worries you, so let 's forget it!” And so, taking a turn through the room, he stopped opposite a racing print, and said: “Poor old Gadfly, how she reminds me of old times! going along with her head low, and looking dead-beat when she was just coming to her work. That was the best mare ever you had, Carew!”
“And yet I lost heavily on her,” said my father, with a half sigh.
“Lost! Why the report goes that you gained above twenty thousand by her the last year she ran.”
“'Common report,' as Figaro says, 'is a common liar;' my losses were very nearly one-half more! It was a black year in my life. I began it badly in Ireland, and ended it worse abroad!”
The eager curiosity with which Rutledge listened, suddenly caught my father's attention, and he stopped short, saying: “These are old stories now, and scarcely worth remembering. But here comes my wife; she 'll be glad to see you, and hear all the news of the capital, for she has been leading a stupid life of it these some weeks back.”
However uneasy my mother and MacNaghten might have been lest Rutledge should have alluded to the newspaper attacks, they were soon satisfied on that point, and the evening passed over pleasantly in discussing the sayings and doings of the Dublin world.
It was late when Rutledge rose to take his leave, and my father had so far rallied by the excitement of conversation that he already felt himself restored to health; and his last words to his guest at parting were,—
“I'll call and see you, Rutledge, before the week is over.”