‘It’s for his own sake I intend it, Mathew Kearney. It’s of himself I’m thinking. And now, thanking you for the pleasant evening I’ve passed, and your charming society, I’ll take my leave.’
‘I hope you’ll not rob us of your company till you take a dish of tea,’ said he, with well-feigned politeness.
‘It’s hard to tear one’s self away, Mr. Kearney; but it’s late already.’
‘Couldn’t we induce you to stop the night, Miss Betty?’ asked he, in a tone of insinuation. ‘Well, at least you’ll let me ring to order your horse?’
‘You may do that if it amuses you, Mathew Kearney; but, meanwhile, I’ll just do what I’ve always done in the same place—I’ll just go look for my own beast and see her saddled myself; and as Peter Gill is leaving you to-morrow, I’ll take him back with me to-night.’
‘Is he going to you?’ cried he passionately.
‘He’s going to me, Mr. Kearney, with your leave, or without it, I don’t know which I like best.’ And with this she swept out of the room, while Kearney closed his eyes and lay back in his chair, stunned and almost stupefied.