“We will, if we’re let, tell Nora,” said Sophy; “but now Frank’s at home, we must mind him, you know.”
“Make him bring you over: there’ll be a bed for him; the old house is big enough, heaven knows.”
“Indeed it is. Well, I’ll do my best; but tell Nora to be sure and get the fiddler from Hollymount. It’s so stupid for her to be sitting there at the piano while we’re dancing.”
“I’ll manage that; only do you bring Frank to dance with her,” and another tender squeeze was given—and Peter hurried out to the horses.
And now they were all gone but the Parson. “Mrs O’Kelly,” said he, “Mrs Armstrong wants a favour from you. Poor Minny’s very bad with her throat; she didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”
“Dear me—poor thing; Can I send her anything?”
“If you could let them have a little black currant jelly, Mrs Armstrong would be so thankful. She has so much to think of, and is so weak herself, poor thing, she hasn’t time to make those things.”
“Indeed I will, Mr Armstrong. I’ll send it down this morning; and a little calf’s foot jelly won’t hurt her. It is in the house, and Mrs Armstrong mightn’t be able to get the feet, you know. Give them my love, and if I can get out at all to-morrow, I’ll go and see them.”
And so the Parson, having completed his domestic embassy for the benefit of his sick little girl, followed the others, keen for the hunt; and the three ladies were left alone, to see the plate and china put away.