“I fear not. The attachment to a place inhabited for centuries by his ancestry—”
“By his fiddlestick!” struck in Mrs. Kennyfeck; “two and sixpence an acre difference would be all the necessary compensation. Mr. Kennyfeck, how can you trifle in this manner, when you know how it will injure the demesne!”
“Oh, ruin it utterly!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck.
“It completely cuts off the beautiful river and those dear islands,” said Olivia.
“So it does,” said Cashel, musing.
“I wonder are they wooded? I declare I believe they are. Papa, are these little scrubby things meant to represent trees?”
“Oaks and chestnut-trees,” responded Mr. Kennyfeck, gravely.
“Oh, how I should love a cottage on that island,—a real Swiss cottage, with its carved galleries and deep-eaved roof. Who owns these delicious islands?”
“Mr. Cashel, my dear,” said papa, still bent on examining the map.
“Do I, indeed!” cried Roland, in an ecstasy. “Then you shall have your wish, Miss Kenny feck. I promise you the prettiest Swiss cottage that your own taste can devise.”