CHAPTER XXXV. MISS JEMIMA MEEK.
If you show him in Hyde Park—Lauk! how they will stare!
Though a very smart figure in Bloomsbury Square,
The Snob.
Cashel's was not a nature to dwell upon a grievance, and he would have, at once and forever, forgotten the late scene with Linton if it were not coupled in his mind with suspicions derived from various different sources. This made him silent and reserved as he walked along, and so palpably inattentive to all his companion's efforts at agreeability that Linton at last said, “Well, Cashel, if you can dispense with sleep, you certainly seem to take the compensation in dreaming. Here have I been retailing for you the choicest bits of gossip and small-talk, not only without the slightest gratitude, but even without common attention on your part!”
“Very true,” said Cashel; “the reproach is quite just, and no man can be more agreeable at the expense of his friends than yourself.”
“Still harping on my daughter, eh?” cried Linton. “I never thought you the man to misconstrue a jest; but if you really are offended with my folly—”
“If I really were offended,” said Cashel, almost sternly, “I should not leave it to be inferred from my manner.”
“That I am sure of,” cried Linton, assuming an air of frankness; “and now, since all that silly affair is forgotten—”
“I did not say so much,” interrupted Cashel. “I cannot forget it; and that is the very reason I am annoyed with myself, with you, and with all the world.”
“Pooh! nonsense, man; you were not used to be so thin-skinned. Let us talk of something else. Here are all our gay friends assembled: how are we to occupy and amuse them?”
Cashel made no reply, but walked on, seemingly lost in thought.