“Quite true,” said she, returning to the party. “It is so painful, he can't keep his hand from the spot.”
“Has any one discovered who the strange-looking man was that was received by Mr. Cashel this morning in his own study?” asked the blonde. “My maid said he was for all the world like a sheriff's officer. It seems, too, he was very violent in his language; and but for Mr. Kennyfeck, he would not have left the house.”
“Too true, I fear, ma'am,” said Mrs. Malone; “my husband, the Thief,”—this was Mrs. Malone's mode of abbreviating and pronouncing the words Chief Justice,—“told me it was impothible for Mr. Cashel to continue his extravaganth much longer.”
“It's shameful—it's disgraceful,” said Lady Janet; “the kitchen is a scene of waste and recklessness, such as no fortune could stand.”
“Indeed, so the 'Thief' said,” resumed Mrs. Malone; “he said that robbery went on, on every thide, and that Mr. Phillith, I think his name is, was the worst of all.”
“Your husband was quite correct, ma'am,” said Lady Janet; “no one should know it better.” And then she whispered in her neighbor's ear, “If the adage be true, 'Set a thief to catch a thief.'”
The party intrusted with this could not restrain her laughter, and for a space, a species of distrust seemed to pervade the circle.
We are certain that no apology will be required, if we ask of our reader to quit this amiable society,—although seated at a comfortable fire, in the very easiest of chairs, with the softest carpet beneath his feet,—and accompany Roland Cashel, who now, with hasty step, trod the little path that led to Tubber-beg Cottage.
However inhospitable the confession, we are bound to acknowledge Cashel was growing marvellously weary of his character as a host. The hundred little contrarieties which daily arose, and which he knew not how to smooth down or conciliate, made him appear, in his own estimation at least, deficient in worldly tact, and left him open to the belief that others would judge him even less mercifully. The unbridled freedom of his household, besides, stimulated all the selfishness of those who, in a better arranged establishment, had kept “watch and ward” over their egotism; and thus, instead of presenting the features of a society where the elements of agreeability were not deficient, they resembled rather the company in a packet-ship, each bent upon securing his own comfort, and only intent how to make his neighbor subsidiary to himself.
Prosperity, too, was teaching him one of its least gracious lessons,—“Distrust.” The mean and selfish natures by which he was surrounded were gradually unfolding themselves to his view, and he was ever on the verge of that dangerous frontier where scepticism holds sway. One conclusion—and it was not the least wise—he formed was, that he was ill suited to such companionship, and that he had been happier, far happier, on some humble fortune, than as the rich proprietor of a great estate.