“Be it so, in the devil's name; a commissioner more or less shall never, stop us!”
“What a set of rascals,” muttered Forester between his teeth, as he tossed off a bumper to swallow his indignation.
“Well, Forester, what of your mission? Have you heard from your friend Darcy?”
“Yes; I have his note here. He cannot come over just now, but he has given me an introduction to his father, and pledges himself I shall be well received.”
“What Darcy is that?” said Heffernan.
“The Knight of Gwynne,” said his Lordship; “do you know him?”
“I believe, my Lord, there is not a gentleman in Ireland who could not say yes to that question; while west of the Shannon, Maurice Darcy is a name to swear by.”
“We want such a man much,” said the Secretary, in a low, distinct utterance; “some well-known leader of public opinion is of great value just now. How does he vote usually? I don't see his name in the divisions.”
“Oh, he rarely comes up to town, never liked Parliament; but when he did attend the House, he usually sat with the Opposition, but, without linking himself to party, spoke and voted independently, and, strange to say, made considerable impression by conduct which in any other man would have proved an utter failure.”
“Did he speak well, then?”