“Not in the least, doctor,” said Cashel, gayly; “but it's right I should mention that I am most lamentably ignorant of everything that deserves that name. My agent has always saved me from the confession, but the truth will out at last.”
“So much the worse, sir,—for others as well as for yourself,” replied Tiernay, bluntly. “The trust a large fortune imposes—But I shall forget myself if I touch on such a theme. My business is this, sir,—and, in mercy to you, I 'll make it very brief. My old friend, Mr. Corrigan, deems it expedient to leave this country, and, in consequence, to dispose of the interest he possesses in these grounds, so long embellished by his taste and culture. He is well aware that much of what he has expended here has not added substantial value to the property; that, purely ornamental, it has, in great part, repaid himself by the many years of enjoyment it has afforded him. Still, he hopes, or, rather, I do for him,—for, to speak candidly, sir, he has neither courage nor hardihood for these kind of transactions,—I hope, sir, that you, desirous of uniting this farm to the large demesne, as I understand to be the case, will not deem this an unfitting occasion to treat liberally with one whose position is no longer what it once was. I must take care, Mr. Cashel, that I say nothing which looks like solicitation here; the confidence my friend has placed in me would be ill requited by such an error.”
“Is there no means of securing Mr. Corrigan's residence here?” said Cashel. “Can I not accommodate his wishes in some other way, and which should not deprive me of a neighbor I prize so highly?”
“I fear not. The circumstances which induce him to go abroad are imperative.”
“Would it not be better to reflect on this?” said Cashel. “I do not seek to pry into concerns which are not mine, but I would earnestly ask if some other arrangement be not possible?”
Tiernay shook his head dubiously.
“If this be so, then I can oppose no longer. It only remains for Mr. Corrigan to put his own value on the property, and I accept it.”
“Nay, sir; this generosity will but raise new difficulties. You are about to deal with a man as high-hearted as yourself, and with the punctilious delicacy that a narrow fortune suggests, besides.”
“Do you, then, doctor, who know both of us, be arbitrator. Let it not be a thing for parchments and lawyers' clerks; let it be an honorable understanding between two gentlemen, and so, no more of it.”
“If the world were made up of men like yourself and my old friend, this would be, doubtless, the readiest and the best solution of the difficulty,” said Tiernay; “but what would be said if we consented to such an arrangement? What would not be said? Ay, faith, there's not a scandalous rumor that malice could forge would not be rife upon us.”