“Have your own way, then,” said the old man, mildly.
“It is an annuity, you say, you 'd wish?”
“On Mary's life, not on mine, doctor.”
“It will be a poor thing,” said Tiernay, with a sigh.
“They say we could live in some of the towns in Flanders very cheaply,” said Corrigan, cheerfully.
“You don't know how to live cheaply,” rejoined Tiernay, crankily. “You think, if you don't see a man in black behind your chair, and that you eat off delf instead of silver, that you are a miracle of simplicity. I saw you last Sunday put by the decanter with half a glass of sherry at the bottom of it, and you were as proud of your thrift as if you had reformed your whole household.”
“Everything is not learned in a moment, Tiernay,” said Corrigan, mildly.
“You are too old to begin, Con Corrigan,” said the other, gravely. “Such men as you, who have not been educated to narrow fortunes, never learn thrift; they can endure great privations well enough, but it is the little, petty, dropping ones that break down the spirit,—these they cannot meet.”
“A good conscience and a strong will can do a great deal, Tiernay. One thing is certain,—that we shall escape persecution from him. He will scarcely discover us in our humble retreat.”
“I've thought of that too,” said Tiernay; “it is the greatest advantage the plan possesses. Now, the next point is, how to see this same Cashel; from all that I can learn, his life is one of dissipation from morning till night. Those fashionable sharpers by whom he is surrounded are making him pay dearly for his admission into the honorable guild.”