“Very primitive, and doubtless very delightful; but I have trespassed too long on your politeness. Permit me to wish you a very good morning.”
“Not at all; having nothing in the world to do. Paul Dempsey—that's my name—was always an idle man; Paul Dempsey, sir, nephew of old Paul Dempsey, of Dempsey Grove, in the county of Kilkenny; a snug place, that I wish the proprietor felt he had enjoyed sufficiently long. And your name, if I might make bold, is—”
“I call myself Gwynne,” said Darcy, after a slight hesitation.
“Gwynne—Gwynne—there was a Gwynne, a tailor, in Ballyragget; a connection, probably?”
“I 'm not aware of any relationship,” said Darcy, smiling.
“I 'm glad of it; I owe your brother or your cousin there—that is, if he was either—a sum of seven-and-nine for these ducks. There are Gwynnes in Ross besides, and Quins; are you sure it is not Quin? Very common name Quin.”
“I believe we spell our name as I have pronounced it.” “Well, if you come to spend a little time here, I 'll give you a hint or two. Don't join Leonard—that blue-nosed fellow, yonder, in whiskey. He 'll be asking you, but don't—at it all day.” Here Mr. Dempsey pantomimed the action of tossing off a dram. “No whist with the widow; if you were younger, I 'd say no small plays with Bess Boyle,—has a brother in the Antrim militia, a very quarrelsome fellow.”
“I thank you sincerely for your kind counsel, although not destined to profit by it. I have one favor to ask: could you procure me the means to enclose my card for Miss Daly, as I must relinquish the hope of seeing her on this occasion?”