“You treat us in princely fashion, sir,” said Fagan, whose eyes glanced from the splendor before him to his daughter, and there tried to read her thoughts.
“You gave me no time for that; had you told me you were coming down, I 'd have tried to receive you properly. As it is, pray make up your mind to stay a day or two,—Carew will be so delighted; nothing flatters him so much as to hear praise of this place.”
“Ah, sir, you forget that men like myself have but few holidays.”
“So much the worse, Fagan; remember what the adage says about all work and no play. Not, by Jove, but I 'm sure that the converse of the proposition must have its penalty, too; for if not, I should have been a marvellously clever fellow.—Ay, Miss Polly, my life has been all play.”
“A greater fault than the other, sir, and with this addition, too, that it makes proselytes,” said she, gravely; “my father's theory finds fewer followers.”
“And you not one of them?” said MacNaghten, rapidly; while he fixed a look of shrewd inquiry on her.
“Assuredly not,” replied she, in a calm and collected tone.
“By Jove, I could have sworn to it,” cried he, with a burst of enthusiastic delight. “There, Fagan, you see Miss Polly takes my side, after all.”
“I have not said so,” rejoined she, gravely. “Gain and waste are nearer relatives than they suspect.”
“I must own that I have never known but one of the family,” said Dan, with one of those hearty laughs which seemed to reconcile him to any turn of fortune.