“Whatever you have to say to me can be said just as well without.”
“What if I wouldn’t say it, then, Kitty O’Hara? What if I was to go back the way I came, and leave you to rue the day you insulted me? Do you know, young woman, that it wasn’t on my own account I came here, that it was to serve others?”
“They chose a bad messenger if they thought you’d be a welcome one.”
“May I never see glory if I’m not tempted to turn away and leave you without telling one word I come for. Where’s John Luttrell? for I think I’ll tell it to himself.”
“My uncle is at the Abbey, if you want him!”
“Your uncle!” said he, jeeringly. “Why wasn’t he your uncle when you were up at Cush-ma-Creena, without a shoe, to your foot, or enough rags to cover you well? You were bare up to this, when I saw you last.” And he put his hand to his knee.
“It was a national costume!” said she, with a quiet laugh, “and a patriot like Mr. O’Rorke should not find fault with it.”
“Be gorra, it was your own self said that! and it was a lie they tould when they said you were altered!” And almost as if by magic the fellow’s ill-temper gave way, and he laughed heartily. “Listen to me now, Miss O’Hara, or Miss Luttrell, or whatever you call yourself.”
“My name is Luttrell,” said she, calmly.
“Well, Luttrell, then; it’s the same to me. As I told you already, I came here more on your account than my own; and here’s what brought me. You know that lodge, or cottage, or whatever they call it, that Vyner built up here in the glen? Well, there’s creditors of his now wanting to get possession of it.”