“Oh, you think he'll be in town then?”
“Why, not exactly that either.”
“Then what can you mean?” said she, with more of animation than before.
“Simply, that his appointment is on the staff in Ireland.”
“In Ireland!” repeated my mother, with a tragic start. “In Ireland!”
“In Ireland!” said Lady Julia, in a low, soft voice.
“En Irlande!” echoed the Count, with a look of well got up horror, as he elevated his eyebrows to the very top of his forehead; while I myself, to whom the communication was as sudden and as unexpected, assumed a kind of soldier-like indifference, as though to say, “What matters it to me? what do I care for the rigours of climate? the snows of the Caucasus, or the suns of Bengal, are quite alike; even Ireland, if his Majesty's service require it.”
“Ireland!” repeated my mother once more; “I really never heard anything so very shocking. But, my dear Jack, you can't think of it. Surely, General, you had presence of mind to decline.”
“To accept, and to thank most gratefully his Royal Highness for such a mark of his favour, for this I had quite presence of mind,” said my father, somewhat haughtily.
“And you really will go, Jack?”