"What ails you, man?—Aren't you well?"
"Wather fatigued—but I'll be bette' pwesently. What do you wish with me, sir?"
"Here are letters for you—I want to know what's in them—Scatterbrain's come—do you know that?"
"No—I did not."
"Don't stand there in the cold—go on dressing yourself; I'll sit down here till you can open your letters: I want to tell you something besides." O'Grady took a chair as he spoke.
Furlong assumed all the composure he could; and the girl began to hope she should remain undiscovered, and most likely she would have been so lucky, had not the Genius of Disaster, with aspect malign, waved her sable wand, and called her chosen servant, Handy Andy, to her aid. He, her faithful and unfailing minister, obeyed the call, and at that critical juncture of time gave a loud knock at the chamber-door.
"Come in," said O'Grady.
Andy opened the door and popped in his head. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I kem for the jintleman's portmantle."
"What gentleman?" asked O'Grady.
"The Honourable, sir; I tuk his portmantle to the wrong room, sir; and I'm come for it now, bekase he wants it."