“Well then,” and he whispered into her ear—“I was running away from the Miss O’Joscelyns.”
“But that won’t do at all; don’t you know they were asked here for your especial edification and amusement?”
“Oh, I know they were. So were the bishop, and the colonel, and Lord George, and their respective wives, and Mr Hill. My dear mamma asked them all here for my amusement; but, you know, one man may lead a horse to water—a hundred can’t make him drink. I cannot, cannot drink of the Miss O’Joscelyns, and the Bishop of Maryborough.”
“For shame, Adolphus! you ought at any rate to do something to amuse them.”
“Amuse them! My dear Fanny, who ever heard of amusing a bishop? But it’s very easy to find fault; what have you done, yourself, for their amusement?”
“I didn’t run away from them; though, had I done so, there would have been more excuse for me than for you.”
“So there would, Fanny,” said Kilcullen, feeling that she had alluded to her brother’s death; “and I’m very, very sorry all these people are here to bore you at such a time, and doubly sorry that they should have been asked on my account. They mistake me greatly, here. They know that I’ve thought Grey Abbey dull, and have avoided it; and now that I’ve determined to get over the feeling, because I think it right to do so, they make it ten times more unbearable than ever, for my gratification! It’s like giving a child physic mixed in sugar; the sugar’s sure to be the nastiest part of the dose. Indeed I have no dislike to Grey Abbey at present; though I own I have no taste for the sugar in which my kind mother has tried to conceal its proper flavour.”
“Well, make the best of it; they’ll all be gone in ten days.”
“Ten days! Are they to stay ten days? Will you tell me, Fanny, what was the object in asking Mat Tierney to meet such a party?”
“To help you to amuse the young ladies.”