Whilst these things were going on in Dreepdaily, I was closeted with M’Corkindale in Glasgow.
“So, then, you have lost your election,” said he.
“And you have lost your wife.”
“Neither of the two accidents appear to me irreparable,” replied Robert.
“How so? Do you still think of Miss Binkie?”
“By no means. I made some little inquiry the day before the election, and discovered that a certain nest-egg was enormously exaggerated, if not altogether fictitious.”
“Well, Bob, there is certainly nobody like yourself for getting information.”
“I do my best. May I inquire into the nature of your future movements?”
“I have not yet made up my mind. These election matters put everything else out of one’s head. Let me see—August is approaching, and I half promised the Captain of M’Alcohol to spend a few weeks with him at his shooting-quarters.”