“To Margaret, the daughter of—”
“Oh! oh! oh!—ha! ha! ha! Good. Oh, that is good!”
“Sire!”
“Excuse my laughing, Lady Connell; but you are talking of the little blue-eyed wench you called your daughter, or your niece, are you not?”
“I mentioned the name, and the descendant of a race of kings!”
“Milesian kings?”
“Yes, Milesian kings; but none the less kings, and I am quite surprised that you should feel any hesitation in regarding the daughter of a mere English miller when you felt none regarding Margaret, a descendant of a long line of kings.”
“My good woman, don’t make me laugh in this way, that’s a dear old soul; now, don’t.”
“Laugh, sire?”
“Yes, to be sure. Come, say no more, we will go and speak to this——”