“And do you think such calumnies have any terror for me?” cried Cashel.
“When you've lived to my age, sir, you'll reason differently.”
“It shall be all as you wish, then,” said Cashel. “But stay!” cried he, after a moment's thought; “there is a difficulty I had almost forgotten. I must look that it may not interfere with our plans. When can I see you again? Would it suit you to come and breakfast with me tomorrow? I 'll have my man of business, and we 'll arrange everything.”
“Agreed, sir; I'll not fail. I like your promptitude. A favor is a double benefit when speedily granted.”
“Now I shall ask one from you, doctor. If I can persuade my kind friends here to visit us, will you too be of the party sometimes?”
“Not a bit of it. Why should I, sir, expose you to the insolent criticism my unpolished manners and rude address would bring upon you—or myself to the disdain that fashionable folk would show me? I am proud—too proud, perhaps—at the confidence you would repose in my honor; I don't wish to blush for my breeding by way of recompense. There, sir,—there is one yonder in every way worthy all the distinction rank and wealth can give her. I feel happy to think that she is to move amongst those who, if they cannot prize her worth, will at least appreciate her fascinations.”
“Will Mr. Corrigan consent?”
“He must,—he shall,” broke in Tiernay; “I'll insist upon it But come along with me into the cottage, while the ladies are cementing their acquaintance; we'll see him, and talk him over.”
So saying, he led Cashel into the little library, where, deep sunk in his thoughts, the old man was seated, with an open book before him, but of which he had not read a line.
“Con!” cried Tiernay, “Mr. Cashel has come to bring you and Miss Mary up to the Hall to dinner. There, sir, look at the face he puts on,—an excuse in every wrinkle of it!”