“I like that little ould man,” said he, confidingly, to Purvis, while he bent a kindly glance on the General. “He doesn't say much, and, maybe, he hears less; but he takes his glass pleasantly, and he lays it down when it's empty, with a little sigh. I never knew a bad fellow had that habit.”
Scroope hinted that the General was one of the bright stars of the British army.
“I did n't care that he took Tippoo Saib, or Bergen-op-Zoom, and that's a big word,—for a wickeder pair of devils, by all accounts, never lived,—if he's all right here.” And Peter touched the left region of his brawny chest “If he's good and generous, kind to the poor, and steady to his friends, I'd be prouder to know him than if he was 'Bony' or Brian Maguire!”
Scroope assured him that the General's greatness took nothing from the kindly qualities of his heart; and, indeed, the mild looks of the old man well corroborated the eulogy; and he and Dalton nodded and drank to each other with all the signs of a most amicable understanding.
Martha was not long absent. She returned with all manner of acknowledgments on the part of her sister; but gratitude was so counterbalanced by delicacy, fears of intrusion were so coupled with enthusiastic delight, that poor Dalton was quite unable to unravel the web, and satisfy himself what were her real intentions.
“Is it that she won't come?” said he, in a state of bewilderment.
“Oh, no,” said Martha; “she did not mean that.”
“Well, then, she is coming,” said he, more contentedly.
“She only fears the inconvenience,——the trouble she may give Miss Dalton,—not to speak of the abruptness of such a visit.”
“She does n't know Nelly,—tell her that. She doesn't know Nelly Dalton,” said Peter. “'T is the same girl does n't care for trouble or inconvenience; just talk to her about Kate and you 'll pay her well for all she could do for you.”