“Which I sincerely hope may not be of the snow tint,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling. “But pray, Mr. Dempsey, to return to a theme more selfish. You are sufficiently aware of our unhappy circumstances here at this moment, to see that we must seek some other abode, at least for the present. Can you then say where we can find such?”
“Miss Daly's neighborhood, perhaps,” broke in Helen.
“Never do,-not to be thought of,” interrupted Paul; “there's nothing for it but the Panther—”
“The what, sir?” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, in no small surprise.
“The Panther, my Lady, Mother Fum's! snug, quiet, and respectable; social, if you like,—selfish, if you please it. Solitary or gregarious; just as you fancy.”
“And where, sir, is the Panther?” said Lady Eleanor, who in her innocence supposed this to be the sign of some village inn.
“In the Diamond of Coleraine, my Lady, opposite M'Grotty's, next but one to Kitty Black's hardware, and two doors from the Post-Office; central and interesting. Mail-car from Newtown, Lim.,—takes up passengers, within view of the windows, at two every day. Letters given out at four,—see every one in the town without stirring from your window. Huston's, the apothecary, always full of people at post hour. Gibbin's tobacco-shop assembles all the Radicals at the same time to read the 'Patriot.' Plenty of life and movement.”
“Is there nothing to be found more secluded, less—”
“Less fashionable, your Ladyship would observe. To be sure there is; but there 's objections,—at least I am sure you would dislike the prying, inquisitive spirit—Eh? Did you make an observation, miss?”
“No, Mr. Dempsey,” said Helen, with some difficulty preserving a suitable gravity. “I would only remark that you are perfectly in the right, and that my mother seeks nothing more than a place where we can remain without obtrusiveness or curiosity directed towards us.”