"Because, if he had, I should not have been allowed the honour of bringing you in to dinner."
"Oh yes! I should have had to go in with Jack, I suppose," answered the lady with a little smile.
"Please, Miss Kilfinane, who is Jack Price? I do so want to know!"
"Jack Price is Lord Mullingar's son."
"But what is he? And why do people want to have him so much, that they put up with his disappointing them nine times out of ten?"
"As to what he is—well, he was in the Guards, and he gave that up. Then they got him a place somewhere—in Africa, or South America, or somewhere—and he gave that up. Then he got the notion that he would be a farmer in Canada, and went out with an axe to cut down the trees, and a plough to plough the ground afterwards, and he gave that up. Now he does nothing particular."
"And has he found his vocation at last?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," said Miss Kilfinane, languidly. Her power of perceiving a joke was very limited.
"Thanks. Now I know all about Mr. Price; except—except why everybody wants to invite him."
"That I really cannot tell you."