“It's nothing,—it will pass over in a moment or so. This sad account of these poor people has distressed me greatly.”
“Well, then, we must hasten on. Mr. Dempsey became acquainted with our poor friends in this their exile; and although from his delicacy and good taste he will not dwell on the circumstance, it is quite clear to me, has shown them many attentions; I might use a stronger word, and say kindnesses.”
“Oh! by Jove, I did nothing. I could do nothing—”
“Nay, sir, you are unjust to yourself; the very intentions by which you set out on your present journey are the shortest answer to that question. It would appear, my dear, that my fair relative, Miss Darcy, has not forfeited the claim she possessed to great beauty and attraction; for here, in the gentleman before us, is an evidence of their existence. Mr. Dempsey, who 'never told his love,' as the poet says, waited in submission himself for the hour of his changing fortune; and until the death of his mother—”
“No, my Lord; my uncle, Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey's Grove.”
“His uncle, I mean. Mr. Dempsey, of Dempsey's Hole.”
“Grove,-Dempsey's Grove,” interpolated Paul, reddening.
“Grove, I should say,” repeated Lord Netherby, unmoved. “By which he has succeeded to a very comfortable independence, and is now in a position to make an offer of his hand and fortune.”
“Under the conditions, my Lord,—under the conditions,” whispered Paul.
“I have not forgotten them,” resumed Lord Netherby, aloud. “It would be ungenerous not to remember them, even for your sake, Mr. Dempsey, seeing how much my poor, dear relative, Lady Eleanor, is beut on prosecuting this unhappy suit, void of all hope, as it seems to be, and not having any money of her owu—”