“Really——” began Mr. Willoughby.
Meldon replied at once to the tone in which the word was spoken.
“I don’t want to be asking questions. If there’s any secret about the matter you’re quite right to keep it to yourself. I quite understand that you Cabinet Ministers can’t always say out everything that’s in your mind. I only mentioned the steamer because the conversation seemed to be languishing. You wouldn’t talk about Thomas O’Flaherty Pat’s field, and you wouldn’t talk about the Gaelic League, though I thought that would be sure to interest you. Now you won’t talk about the steamer. However, it’s quite easy to get on some other subject. Do you think the weather will hold up? The glass has been dropping the last two days.”
Mr. Willoughby struggled out of the hammock-chair again. He drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. His face assumed an expression of rigid determination. He addressed Higginbotham:
“Will you be so good as to go up to the old man you spoke of——”
“Thomas O’Flaherty Pat,” said Meldon. “That’s the man he means, you know, Higginbotham.”
“And tell him——” went on Mr. Willoughby.
“If you’re to tell him anything,” said Meldon, “don’t forget to take someone with you who understands Irish.”
“And tell him,” repeated Mr. Willoughby, “that I shall expect him here in about an hour to meet Father Mulcrone.”
“I see,” said Meldon. “So that’s where the yacht’s gone. You’ve sent for the priest to talk sense to the old boy. Well, I dare say you’re right, though I think we could have managed with the help of Mary Kate. She knows both languages well, and she’d do anything for me, though she is rather down on Higginbotham. It’s a pity you didn’t consult me before sending the steamer off all the way to Inishmore. However, it can’t be helped now.”