“And in the case for which I was most interested,” resumed Heffernan, not heeding the interruption, “the favor I sought would have been more justly bestowed from the rank and merits of the party than as a recompense for any sen-ices of mine.”
“I won't say that, Heffernan,” said Hume, with a look of modesty, who with the most implicit good faith supposed he was the party alluded to; “I won't go that far; but I will and must say, that after four-and-thirty years as a commissioner—”
“A man must have laid by a devilish pretty thing for the rest of his life,” said St. George, who felt all the bitterness of a narrow income augmented by the croaking complaints of the well-salaried official.
“Well, I hope better days are coming for all of us,” said Heffernan, desirous of concluding the subject ere it should take an untoward turn.
“You have got a very magnificent seat in the west, sir,” said St. George, addressing O'Reilly, who during the whole evening had done little more than assent or smile concurrence with the several speakers.
“The finest thing in Ireland,” interrupted Heffernan.
“Nay, that is saying too much,” said O'Reilly, with a look of half-real, half-affected bashfulness. “The abbey certainly stands well, and the timber is well grown.”
“Are you able to see Clew Bay from the small drawing-room still?—for I remember remarking that the larches on the side of the glen would eventually intercept the prospect.”
“You know the Abbey, then?” asked O'Reilly, forgetting to answer the question addressed to him.
“Oh, I knew it well. My family is connected-distantly, I believe—with the Darcys, and in former days we were intimate. A very sweet place it was; I am speaking of thirty years ago, and of course it must have improved since that.”