“Well, then, Massey Hamilton,—but he's only a commoner,—to be sure his uncle's a Duke, but, confound him, he never talks of him! I might draw him out about the Highlands and deer-stalking, and the Christmas revels at Clanchattagan; he 's three—Kilgoff four; he 's first-rate, and will discuss his noble descent till his carriage is announced. Loughdooner, five—”
“He's another bore, Heffernan.”
“I know he is, my Lord; but he has seven daughters, and will consequently make up to young Beecham, who is a great prize in the wheel matrimonial. We shall want a Bishop to say grace; I think Dunmore is the man: he is the last of your Lordship's making, and can't refuse a short invitation.”
“Six, and the three Hickmans nine, and ourselves eleven; now for the twelfth—”
“Darcy, of course,” said Heffernan; “he must be asked, and, if possible, induced to come; Hickman O'Reilly will be far more easily managed if we make him suppose that we have already secured Darcy ourselves.”
“He'll decline, Heffernan; depend upon it, he'll not come.”
“You think he saw through my ruse in the House,—not a bit of it; he is the least suspecting man in Ireland, and I 'll make that very circumstance the reason of his coming. Hint to him that rumor says he is coquetting with the Government, and he 'll go any lengths to brave public opinion by confronting it,—that's Darcy, or I 'm much mistaken in my man; and, to say truth, my Lord, it's an error I rarely fall into.” A smile of self-satisfaction lit up Heffernan's features as he spoke; for, like many cunning people, his weak point was vanity.
“You may call me as a witness to character whenever you please,” said Lord Castlereagh, who, in indulging the self-glorification of the other, was now taking his own revenge; “you certainly knew Upton better than I did.”
“Depend upon it,” said Heffernan, as he leaned back in his chair and delivered his words in a tone of authority,—“depend upon it, the great events of life never betray the man, it is the small, every-day dropping occurrences both make and mar him. I made Upton my friend for life by missing a woodcock he aimed at; he brought down the bird, and I bagged the sportsman. Ah, my Lord, the real science of life is knowing how to be gracefully in the wrong; how to make those slips that reflect on your own prudence, by exhibiting the superior wisdom of your acquaintances. Of the men who compassionate your folly or deplore your weakness, you may borrow money, from the fellows who envy your abilities and extol your capacity, you 'll never get sixpence.”
“How came it, Heffernan, that you never took office?” said Lord Castlereagh, suddenly, as if the idea forced itself abruptly upon him.