“The elegant hospitalities which I dispensed, in the hope—vain hope!—of inducing them to believe that the social amenities of life had extended to our insular position,—these the Office declares they have nothing to do with; and insolently asks me, 'Are there any other items of my pleasure whose cost I should wish to submit to Parliament?'
“Ask Talleyrand, ask Metternich, ask any of our own people,—B., or S., or H.—since when have cookery and the ballet ceased to be the lawful weapons of diplomacy?
“The day of reckoning for all this, my dear Tony, is coming. At first I thought of making some of my friends in the House move for the corrrespondence between F. O. and myself,—the Damer papers they would be called, in the language of the public journals,—and thus bring on a smashing debate. Reconsideration, however, showed me that my memoirs, 'Five Years of a Diplomatist on Service,' would be the more fitting place; and in the pages of those volumes you will find revelations more astounding, official knaveries more nefarious, and political intrigues more Machiavellian, than the wildest imagination for wickedness has ever conceived. What would they not have given rather than see such an exposure? I almost think I will call my book '“Extraordinaries” of a Diplomatist.' Sensational and taking both, that title! You mustn't be provoked if, in one of the lighter chapters—there must be light chapters—I stick in that little adventure of your own with my godfather.”
“Confound the fellow!” muttered Tony, and with such a hearty indignation that his mother heard him from the adjoining room, and hastened in to ask who or what had provoked him. Tony blundered out some sort of evasive reply, and then said, “Was it Dr. Stewart's voice I heard there a few minutes ago?”
“Yes, Tony; he called in as he was passing to Coleraine on important business. The poor man is much agitated by an offer that has just been made him to go far away over the seas, and finish his days, one may call it, at the end of the world. Some of this country folk, it seems, who settled in New Zealand, at a place they call Wellington Gap, had invited him to go out there and minister among them; and though he 's not minded to make the change at his advanced time of life, nor disposed to lay his bones in a far-away land, yet for Dolly's sake—poor Dolly, who will be left friendless and homeless when he is taken away—he thinks, maybe, it's his duty to accept the offer; and so he's gone into the town to consult Dr. M'Candlish and the elder Mr. Mc Elwain, and a few other sensible men.”
“Why won't Dolly marry the man she ought to marry,—a good true-hearted fellow, who will treat her well and be kind to her? Tell me that, mother.”
“It mauna be,—it mauna be,” said the old lady, who, when much moved, frequently employed the Scotch dialect unconsciously.
“Is there a reason for her conduct?”
“There is a reason,” said she, firmly.
“And do you know it? Has she told you what it is?”