“Where should a man live thin, Mrs Costelloe, when he gets married, but jist in his own house? Why for should he not live there?”
“That’s thrue agin, to be shure: but yet, only to think—Martin living in ould Sim Lynch’s big house! I wondther what ould Sim would say, hisself, av he could only come back and see it!”
“I’ll tell you what he’d say thin, av he tould the thruth; he’d say there was an honest man living there, which wor niver the case as long as any of his own breed was in it—barring Anty, I main; she’s honest and thrue, the Lord be good to her, the poor thing. But the porter’s not to your liking, Mrs Costelloe—you’re not tasting it at all this morning.”
No one could have been more humble and meek than was Anty herself, in the midst of her happiness. She had no idea of taking on herself the airs of a fine lady, or the importance of an heiress; she had no wish to be thought a lady; she had no wish for other friends than those of her husband, and his family. She had never heard of her brother’s last horrible proposal to Doctor Colligan, and of the manner in which his consent to her marriage had been obtained; nor did Martin intend that she should hear it. She had merely been told that her brother had found that it was for his advantage to leave the neighbourhood altogether; that he had given up all claim to the house; and that his income was to be sent to him by a person appointed in the neighbourhood to receive it. Anty, however, before signing her own settlement, was particularly careful that nothing should be done, injurious to her brother’s interest, and that no unfair advantage should be taken of his absence.
Martin, too, was quiet enough on the occasion. It was arranged that he and his wife, and at any rate one of his sisters, should live at Dunmore House; and that he should keep in his own hands the farm near Dunmore, which old Sim had held, as well as his own farm at Toneroe. But, to tell the truth, Martin felt rather ashamed of his grandeur. He would much have preferred building a nice snug little house of his own, on the land he held under Lord Ballindine; but he was told that he would be a fool to build a house on another man’s ground, when he had a very good one ready built on his own. He gave way to such good advice, but he did not feel at all happy at the idea; and, when going up to the house, always felt an inclination to shirk in at the back-way.
But, though neither the widow nor Martin triumphed aloud at their worldly prosperity, the two girls made up for their quiescence. They were full of nothing else; their brother’s fine house—Anty’s great fortune; their wealth, prosperity, and future station and happiness, gave them subjects of delightful conversation among their friends. Meg. moreover, boasted that it was all her own doing; that it was she who had made up the match; that Martin would never have thought of it but for her,—nor Anty either, for the matter of that.
“And will your mother be staying down at the shop always, the same as iver?” said Matilda Nolan, the daughter of the innkeeper at Tuam.
“’Deed she says so, then,” said Jane, in a tone of disappointment; for her mother’s pertinacity in adhering to the counter was, at present, the one misery of her life.
“And which of you will be staying here along with her, dears?” said Matilda. “She’ll be wanting one of you to be with her, any ways.”
“Oh, turn about, I suppose,” said Jane.