“No, will you though? That’s a good fellow. Lord! I told them I knew you weren’t a miser; that you were only odd, that’s all.”
“And how did you come over, Baby?”
“Just cantered over with little Paddy Byrne. I made him take all the walls and ditches we met, and they’re scraping the mud off him ever since. I’m glad I made you laugh, Charley; they say you are so sad. Dear me, how thirsty I am! Have you any beer?”
“To be sure, Baby. But wouldn’t you like some luncheon?”
“Of all things. Well, this is fun!” said she, as taking my arm, I led her from the drawing-room. “They don’t know where I’m gone,—not one of them; and I’ve a great mind not to tell them, if you wouldn’t blab.”
“Would it be quite proper?”
“Proper!” cried she, imitating my voice. “I like that! as if I was going to run away with you! Dear me, what a pretty house, and what nice pictures! Who is the old fellow up there in the armor?”
“That’s Sir Hildebrand O’Malley,” said I, with some pride in recognizing an ancestor of the thirteenth century.
“And the other old fright with the wig, and his hands stuck in his pockets?”
“My grandfather, Baby.”