‘I will; that is if she let me.’
‘I trust she may, and not the less willingly, perhaps, as she evidently will not speak to Mr. Walpole.’
‘Ah, indeed, and is he here?’ he stopped and hesitated; and the full bold look she gave him did not lessen his embarrassment.
‘Well, sir,’ asked she, ‘go on: is this another reminiscence?’
‘No, Miss Kearney; I was only thinking of asking you who this Mr. Walpole was.’
‘Mr. Cecil Walpole is a nephew or a something to the Lord-Lieutenant, whose private secretary he is. He is very clever, very amusing—sings, draws, rides, and laughs at the Irish to perfection. I hope you mean to like him.’
‘Do you?’
‘Of course, or I should not have bespoken your sympathy. My cousin used to like him, but somehow he has fallen out of favour with her.’
‘Was he absent some time?’ asked he, with a half-cunning manner.
‘Yes, I believe there was something of that in it. He was not here for a considerable time, and when we saw him again, we almost owned we were disappointed. Papa is calling me from the window, pray excuse me for a moment.’ She left him as she spoke, and ran rapidly back to the house, whence she returned almost immediately. ‘It was to ask you to stop and dine here, Mr. O’Shea,’ said she. ‘There will be ample time to send back to Miss O’Shea, and if you care to have your dinner-dress, they can send it.’