“Might I venture on such a liberty?”
“Too happy to be president of your council,” said Linton, gayly.
A very entreating kind of look from Olivia Kennyfeck here met Cashel's eyes, and he remarked that she left the place beside the table and walked into the other room; he himself, although dying to follow her, had no alternative but to remain and continue the conversation.
“The first point, then,” resumed Linton, “is the house. In what state is your present mansion?”
“A ruin, I believe,” said Cashel.
“How picturesque!” exclaimed Mrs. Leicester White.
“I fancy not, madam,” rejoined Cashel. “I understand it is about the least prepossessing bit of stone and mortar the country can exhibit.”
“No matter, let us see it; we 'll improvise something, and get it ready for the Christmas holidays,” said Linton. “We have—let us see—we have about two months for our preparation, and, therefore, no time to lose. We must premise to the honorable company that our accommodation is of the simplest; 'roughing' shall be the order of the day. Ladies are not to look for Lyons silk ottomans in their dressing-rooms, nor shall we promise that our conservatory furnish a fresh bouquet for each fair guest at breakfast.”
“Two months are four centuries!” said Mrs. White; “we shall accept of no apologies for any shortcomings, after such an age of time to prepare.”
“You can have your fish from Limerick every day,” said an old bluff-looking gentleman in a brown wig.