"The present way has its demerits." "Yes, it throws responsibility upon the man, and gives a heap of trouble to the woman," said Captain Ivy with a laugh; "but they'll change it all, you'll see." Dyck poured himself a glass of port, held it up, sniffed the aroma, and looked through the beautiful red tinge of the wine with a happy and critical eye.
"Well, the world could be remade in a lot of ways," he declared.

"I shouldn't mind seeing a bit of a revolution in Ireland--but in England first," he hastened to add.

"They're a more outcast folk than the Irish." His father scoffed.
"Look out, Dyck, or they'll drop you in jail if you talk like that!" he chided, his red face growing redder, his fingers nervously feeling the buttons on his picturesque silk waistcoat.

"There's conspiracy in Ireland, and you never truly know if the man that serves you at your table, or brings you your horse, or puts a spade into your ground, isn't a traitor." At that moment the door opened, and a servant entered the room.

In his hand he carried a letter which, with marked excitement, he brought to Miles Calhoun.
"Sure, he's waiting, sir," he said.
"And who's he ?" asked his master, turning the letter over, as though to find out by looking at the seal.
"Oh, a man of consequence, if we're to judge by the way he's clothed." "Fit company, then ?" his master asked, as he opened the heavily sealed letter.
"Well, I'm not saying that, for there's no company good enough for us," answered the higgledy-piggledy butler, with a quirk of the mouth; "but, as messengers go, I never seen one with more style and point." "Well, bring him to me," said Miles Calhoun.