Ada kissed her hand several times to him, and then hastened below into the cabin.
“I have asked Luttrell’s leave to call on him,” said Vyner.
“I thought you would,” was the dry reply.
“I only wrote one line, and made my request in the name of our old friendship.”
“Well, of course, you are the best judge of your own duties; only, for my own part, I beg, if I ever should turn hermit, that you’ll not think yourself bound to have me shaved and trimmed for the honour of dining some one day at your table.”
“Upon my word, I think it would be a pity to take you out of your cave, or whatever you call it,” said the governess, with a spiteful laugh.
“There, don’t fight any more till tea-time,” said Vyner, laughingly.
“Who’ll come on shore with me? I’m for a ramble over that purple mountain yonder.”
“I have the music-lesson.”
“And I have the remainder of that article in the Quarterly,” said Grenfell, “which proves incontestably the utter hopelessness of Ireland. The writer knows the people well, and describes their faults of character perfectly.”