Glorious fellow, sir; the greatest of all the convivialists of his time, was Curran. A host in himself; but, as he once said, you could n't always depend on the 'elevation.'”
Martin smiled faintly; he relished the lawyer's talk, but he felt that it demanded an amount of attention on his part that wearied him. Anything that cost him trouble was more or less of a “bore;” and he already began to wish for his accustomed ease and indolence.
“Well, Repton,” said he, “you wished to see the quarries, I think?”
“To see everything and everybody, sir, and with my own eyes, too. As Lysaght said, when I read the book of nature, 'I let no man note my brief for me.'”
“I thought of being your companion, myself; but somehow, this morning, my old enemy, the gout, is busy again; however, you 'll not regret the exchange, Repton, when I give you in charge to my niece. She 'll be but too happy to do the honors of our poor country to so distinguished a visitor.”
“And a very artful plan to put me in good humor with everything,” said Repton, laughing. “Well, I consent. I offer myself a willing victim to any amount of seduction. How are we to go?—do we drive, walk, or ride?”
“If Mary be consulted, she'll say ride,” said Martin; “but perhaps—”
“I'm for the saddle, too,” broke in Repton. “Give me something active and lively, light of mouth and well up before, and I'll show you, as Tom Parsons said, that we can cut as good a figure at the wall as the 'bar.'”
“I 'll go and consult my niece, then,” said Martin, hastening out of the room, to conceal the smile which the old man's vanity had just provoked.
Mary was dressed in her riding-habit, and about to leave her room as her uncle entered it.