Mr. Kennyfeck's felicitations on their arrival were scarce uttered ere Cashel had sufficiently recovered from his surprise at the unexpected magnificence of the house to make any reply; for, although as yet advanced no further than the hall, a marble group by Canova, a centre lamp of costly Sèvres, and some chairs of carved ebony served to indicate the expensive style of the remainder of the mansion.
While Cashel, then, muttered his acknowledgments, he added to himself, but in a voice scarcely less loud,—
“Devilish good crib, this, Master Kennyfeck.”
“Pearse,” said the host, “is dinner ready?”
“My mistress and the young ladies have dined, sir; but Mr. Jones and Mr. Softly are in the parlor.”
“Well, let us have something at once; or, would you prefer, Mr. Cashel, making any change in your dress first?”
“I say dinner above all things,” said the youth, disencumbering himself of a great Mexican mantle.
“Perfectly right; quite agree with you,” said Kennyfeck, endeavoring to assume a little of his guest's dash; “and here we are. Ah, Jones, how d'ye do? Mr. Cashel, this is my friend Mr. Jones. Mr. Softly, very glad to see you. Mr. Softly.—Mr. Cashel. Don't stir, I beg; keep your places. We 'll have a bit of dinner here, and join you at your wine afterwards. Meanwhile, I 'll just step upstairs, and be back again in a moment; you'll excuse me, I 'm sure.”
“Oh, certainly,” replied Cashel, who appeared as if he could excuse anything with a better grace than the ceremonious slowness of the butler's arrangements.
There was a pause of a few seconds as Mr. Kennyfeck left the room, broken, at last, by Mr. Jones asking if they had not been detained by contrary winds.