“Those two that you saw last night,—the Major and Dr. Dill. They 're up here every second day, fishing, and eating their dinner with the master.”
“Is the fishing good?”
“The best in Ireland.”
“And what shooting is there,—any partridges?”
“Partridges, be gorra! You could n't see the turnips for them.”
“And woodcocks?”
“Is it woodcocks! The sky is black with the sight of them.”
“Any lions?”
“Well, maybe an odd one now and then,” said Darby, half apologizing for the scarcity.
There was an ineffable expression of self-satisfaction in Conyers's face at the subtlety with which he had drawn Darby into this admission; and the delight in his own acuteness led him to offer the poor fellow a cigar, which he took with very grateful thanks.