‘I’ll drink no toasts nor sentiments, Mathew Kearney, and there’s no artifice or roguery will make me forget I’m a woman and an O’Shea.’
‘Faix, you’ll not catch me forgetting either,’ said Mathew, with a droll twinkle of his eye, which it was just as fortunate escaped her notice.
‘I doubted for a long time, Mathew Kearney, whether I’d come over myself, or whether I ‘d write you a letter; not that I’m good at writing, but, somehow, one can put their ideas more clear, and say things in a way that will fix them more in the mind; but at last I determined I’d come, though it’s more than likely it’s the last time Kilgobbin will see me here.’
‘I sincerely trust you are mistaken, so far.’
‘Well, Mathew, I’m not often mistaken! The woman that has managed an estate for more than forty years, been her own land-steward and her own law-agent, doesn’t make a great many blunders; and, as I said before, if Mathew has no friend to tell him the truth among the men of his acquaintance, it’s well that there is a woman to the fore, who has courage and good sense to go up and do it.’
She looked fixedly at him, as though expecting some concurrence in the remark, if not some intimation to proceed; but neither came, and she continued.
‘I suppose you don’t read the Dublin newspapers?’ said she civilly.
‘I do, and every day the post brings them.’
‘You see, therefore, without my telling you, what the world is saying about you. You see how they treat “the search for arms,” as they head it, and “the Maid of Saragossa!” O Mathew Kearney! Mathew Kearney! whatever happened the old stock of the land, they never made themselves ridiculous.’
‘Have you done, Miss Betty?’ asked he, with assumed calm.