"I try to," began Foster, when Pat, who had caught the last word imperfectly, started up.
"Yes, I'm dry too," he said, gaily; "let us go and worship at the shrine of Bacchus."
"You go with Sir Mark," said Foster; "I want to speak with Monteith on business."
"Right you are!" replied Pat, "come Sir Mark, I'm as thirsty as a limekiln;" and Mr. Ryan went out of the box humming "Slightly on the mash," followed by Sir Mark Trevor, who was greatly amused with the young Irishman.
"Now then," said Ronald, eagerly drawing his chair close to that of Foster's, "what is it, good news?"
"I think so," replied the Barrister, leaning back in his chair, "I fancy I've found out Ventin's real name."
"The deuce you have! and what is it?"
"Leopold Verschoyle."
"Oh! the same initials."
"Exactly, so that accounts for all his linen being marked L. V."