“I thought Roland would have taken the quizzing better,” said Linton, thoughtfully. “There 's no knowing any man, or—woman either. You perceived what I was at, certainly.”
“No, indeed. I was as much deceived as Mr. Cashel. I thought, to be sure, that you were unusually severe, but I never suspected the object.”
“How droll! Well, I am a better actor than I fancied,” said Linton, laughing; then added, in a lower tone, “Not that the lesson should be lost upon him; for, in sober earnest, there was much truth in it.”
“We were greatly pleased with him,” said Mary, “and now, knowing who he is, and what temptations such a young man has to over-estimate himself, are even more struck by his unassuming quietude.”
Linton only smiled, but it was a smile of most compassionate pity.
“I conclude that you mean to show yourself to your company, then, Mr. Cashel?” said he, turning suddenly about.
“I'm ready,” said Roland. “I'd go, however, with an easier conscience if Mr. Corrigan would only promise me to come and see us there sometimes.”
“I'm a very old fellow, Mr. Cashel, and have almost outlived the habits of society; but if any one's invitation shall bring me beyond these walls, it shall be yours.”
“I must be content with that,” said Roland, as he shook the proffered hand; and then, with a cordial farewell to Miss Leicester, took Linton's arm, and retired.