Mr. Colesworth had not ever seen such a pair of laundry drawers inflated to symbolise the breach between Ireland and England; nor probably, if he had, would the sentiment of national disunion have struck his mind:  it was difficult to him in the description.  He considered his Rev. friend to be something of a slippery fish, while Father Boyle’s opinion of him likewise referred him to an elemental substance, of slow movement-earth, in short:  for he continued to look argumentative after all had been said.

Or perhaps he threw a coveting eye on sweet Miss Kathleen and had his own idea of mending a stitch of the breach in a quite domestic way.  If so, the Holy Father would have a word to say, let alone Kathleen.  The maids of his Church do not espouse her foes.  For the men it is another matter:  that is as the case may be.  Temporarily we are in cordial intercourse, Mr. Colesworth.

Miss Kathleen returned to deck carrying her bags.  The gentleman had to descend, and subsequently an amiable dissension arose on the part of the young lady and Mr. Colesworth.  She, however, yielded one of her bags, and he, though doubly laden, was happy.  All very transparent to pastoral observation, but why should they not be left to their chirruping youthfulness?  The captain was not in view, and Father Boyle wanted to go to bed for refreshment, and Kathleen was an airy gossamer, with a boy running after it, not by any means likely to catch it, or to keep it if he did.  Proceed and trip along, you young ones!

At the hotel they heard that Captain Con O’Donnell was a snug sleeper upstairs.  This, the captain himself very soon informed them, had not been the kernel of the truth.  He had fancied they would not cross the Channel on so rattlesome a night, or Kathleen would have had an Irish kiss to greet her landing in England.  But the cousinly salute was little delayed, news of the family in Ireland and England was exchanged, and then Mr. Colesworth and the captain bowed to an introduction; and the captain, at mention of his name, immediately cried out that Mr. Colesworth might perchance be a relative of the highly intelligent admirable lady who had undertaken the secretaryship, and by her vast ability got the entire management, of Miss Mattock’s benevolent institution, and was conducting it with such success that it was fast becoming a grief to the generous heart of the foundress of the same to find it not only self-paying, but on the road to a fortune, inasmuch as it was already an article in the decrees of fashion among the nobility and gentry of both sexes in the metropolis to have their linen and laces washed at the Mattock laundry.

Mr. Colesworth said he was the brother of the lady in question, he had also the pleasure of an acquaintance with Miss Mattock.  He was vehemently congratulated on the relationship, which bore witness, the captain armed, to a certain hereditary share of brains greatly to be envied:  brother of Miss Colesworth, a title of distinction in itself!  He was congratulated not less cordially for his being so fortunate as to know Miss Mattock, one of a million.