“Who will have a walk-over?” asked Father O’Dowd, who had entered unperceived.

“My friend, Mr. Wynwood Melton.”

“For a seat in Parliament?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a vacancy?”

“Yes.”

“In an Irish constituency?”

“You have not heard the news, then?”

“Not a word; and I may exclaim with Horace, Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia.”

“Well, reverend sir, your county member, Mr. Bromly de Ruthven, is dead.”