“A very good name,” said O’Shane; “but what do you know of it, Harry?”
“Only, sir, I happened to meet with a Dr. Cambray the winter I was in Dublin, whom I thought a very agreeable, respectable, amiable man—and I wonder whether this is the same person.”
“There is something more now, Harry Ormond, I know by your face,” said Corny: “there’s some story of or belonging to Dr. Cambray—what is it?”
“No story, only a slight circumstance—which, if you please, I’d rather not tell you, sir,” said Ormond.
“That is something very extraordinary, and looks mysterious,” said Father Jos.
“Nothing mysterious, I assure you,” said Ormond,—“a mere trifle, which, if it concerned only myself, I would tell directly.”
“Let him alone, father,” said King Corny; “I am sure he has a good reason—and I’m not curious: only let me whisper this in your ear to show you my own penetration, Harry—I’d lay my life” (said he, stretching over and whispering), “I’d lay my life Miss Annaly has something to do with it.”
“Miss Annaly!—nothing in the world—only—yes, I recollect she was present.”
“There now—would not any body think I’m a conjuror? a physiognomist is cousin to (and not twice removed from) a conjuror.”
“But I assure you, though you happened to guess right partly as to her being present, you are totally mistaken, sir, as to the rest.”