“Is Mrs. Bingham at home,” said he, as the servant opened the door.

“No sir, she’s out in the carriage.”

“Well, you see Harry, your ill luck befriends you; for I was resolved on presenting you to my friends and leaving the rest to its merits.”

“I can safely assure you that I should not have gone up stairs,” said I.  “Little as I know of myself, there is one point of my character I have never been deceived in, the fatal facility by which every new incident or adventure can turn me from following up my best matured and longest digested plans; and as I feel this weakness and cannot correct it; the next best thing I can do is fly the causes.”

“Upon my soul,” said Tom, “you have become quite a philosopher since we met.  There is an old adage which says, ’no king is ever thoroughly gracious if he has not passed a year or two in dethronement;’ so I believe your regular lady-killer—­yourself for instance—­becomes a very quiet animal for being occasionally jilted.  But now, as you have some commissions to do, pray get done with them as fast as possible, and let us meet at dinner.  Where do you dine to-day?”

“Why, upon that point, I am at your service completely.”

“Well, then, I have got a plan which I think will suit you.  You said you wished to go by Holyhead, for fear of delay; so, we’ll drive down at six o’clock to Skinner’s and dine with him on board the packet at Howth.  Bring your luggage with you, and it will save you a vast deal of fuss and trouble in the morning.”

Nothing could be better management for me than this, so I accordingly promised acquiescence; and having appointed a rendezvous for six o’clock, bade O’Flaherty good by, inwardly rejoicing that my plans were so far forwarded, and that I was not to be embarrassed with either Mrs. Bingham or her daughter, for whose acquaintance or society I had no peculiar ambition.

My commissions, though not very numerous, occupied the few hours which remained, and it was already a few minutes past six o’clock when I took my stand under the piazza of the Post Office to wait for O’Flaherty.  I had not long to do so, for immediately after I had reached the spot, he arrived in an open barouche and four posters, with three other young men, to whom he severally introduced me, but whose names I have totally forgotten; I only remember that two of the party were military men then quartered in town.

When I had taken my seat, I could not help whispering to Tom, that although his friend Skinner might be “bon” for a visitation or two at his dinner, yet as we were now so strong a party, it might be as well to dine at the hotel.

“Oh,” said he, “I have arranged all that; I have sent him a special messenger two hours since, and so make your mind easy—­we shall not be disappointed, nor be short-taken.”

Our drive, although a long one, passed quickly over, and before we had reached our destination, I had become tolerably intimate with all the party, who were evidently picked men, selected by O’Flaherty for a pleasant evening.