“What a charming place you have chosen for your study, Miss Kellett!” said he, seating himself at the table. “Not but I believe,” continued he, “that when once deeply engaged in a pursuit, one takes little account of surrounding objects. Pastorals have been composed in garrets, and our greatest romancer wrote some of his most thrilling scenes amid the noise and commonplace interruptions of a Court of Sessions.”
“Such labors as mine,” said she, smiling, “neither require nor deserve the benefit of a chosen spot.”
“You are engaged upon Glengariff,” said he; “am I at liberty to look?” And he took the paper from the table as he spoke. At first he glanced half carelessly at the lines; but as he read on he became more attentive, and at last, turning to the opening pages, he read with marked earnestness and care.
“You have done this very well,—admirably well,” said he, as he laid it down; “but shall I be forgiven if I make an ungracious speech?”
“Say on,” said she, smiling good-naturedly.
“Well, then,” said he, drawing a long breath, “you are pleading an impossible cause. They who suggested it were moved by the success of those great enterprises which every day develops around us, and which, by the magic word 'Company,' assume vitality and consistence; they speculated on immense profits just as they could compute a problem in arithmetic. It demanded so much skill and no more. You—I have no need that you should tell me so—were actuated by very different motives. You wanted to benefit a poor and neglected peasantry, to disseminate amongst them the blessings of comfort and civilization; you were eager for the philanthropy of the project, they for its gain.”
“But why, as a mere speculation, should it be a failure?” broke she in.
“There are too many reasons for such a result,” said he, with a melancholy smile. “Suffice it if I give you only one. We Irish are not in favor just now. While we were troublesome and rebellious, there was an interest attached to us,—we were dangerous; and even in the sarcasms of the English press there lurked a secret terror of some great convulsion here which should shake the entire empire. We are prosperous now, and no longer picturesque. Our better fortune has robbed us of the two claims we used to have on English sympathy; we are neither droll nor ragged, and so they can neither laugh at our humor nor sneer at our wretchedness. Will not these things show you that we are not likely to be fashionable? I say this to you; to Lord Glengariff I will speak another language. I will tell him that his scheme will not attract speculators. I myself cannot advocate it. I never link my name with defeats. He will be, of course, indignant, and we shall part on bad terms. He is not the first I have refused to make rich.”