“Yes, my dear,” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, not detecting the sarcasm, “I cannot fancy one more capable of affording judicious counsel. You spoke about ordering plate, Mr. Cashel; but of course you will apply to Storr and Mortimer. Everything is so much better in London; otherwise, here we are at Leonard's.”
The carriage drove up, as she spoke, to the door of a very splendid-looking shop, where in all the attractive display modern taste has invented, plate and jewellery glittered and dazzled.
“It was part of Mr. Kennyfeck's counsel this morning,” said Cashel, “that I should purchase anything I want in Ireland, so far, at least, as practicable; so, if you will aid me in choosing, we 'll take the present opportunity.”
Mrs. Kennyfeck was overjoyed at the bare mention of such an occasion of display, and sailed into the shop with an air that spoke plain as words themselves, “I'm come to make your fortune.” So palpable, indeed, was the manner of her approach, that the shopman hastily retired to seek the proprietor of the establishment,—a little pompous man, with a bald head,—who, having a great number of “bad debts” among his high clients, had taken to treating great folk with a very cool assumption of equality.
“Mr. Cashel is come to look about some plate, Mr. Leonard. Let us see your book of drawings; and have you those models you made for Lord Kellorane?”
“We have better, ma'am,” said Leonard. “We have the plate itself. If you will step upstairs. It is all laid out on the tables. The fact is”—here he dropped his voice—“his lordship's marriage with Miss Fenchurch is broken off, and he will not want the plate, and we have his orders to sell it at once.”
“And is that beautiful pony-phaeton, with the two black Arabians, to be sold?” asked Miss Kennyfeck, eagerly. “He only drove them once, I think.”
“Yes, madam, everything: they are all to be auctioned at Dycer's to-day.”
“At what hour?” inquired Cashel.
“At three, precisely, sir.”