“What matters it whether I wish it or not? I know it must be. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, then,—good-bye,” said he, affecting as much indifference as he could; and then, slightly raising his hat, he turned away on the road homeward.
Joseph Nelligan's reflections were not of the pleasantest as he sauntered slowly back. He was not exactly satisfied with himself; he felt, he could not just say how, that the young girl had had the mastery over him; she was more calm or self-possessed; she had more tact, or she knew more of life; had more of self-control, or breeding, or some other quality, whatever it might be, than he had. At all events, he was ill at ease and discontented. Then he doubted whether he ought to have taken her at her word when she talked of parting. It might, possibly, have been meant by her to evoke some show of resistance on his part; that same inequality of station she seemed to hint at might, perhaps, demand from him a greater deference. In fact, whichever way he turned the matter over, he saw little cause for self-gratulation; nor did he discover that it mended matters when he tried to accuse her of French frivolity, and such other traits as he fancied of foreign origin.
In this not over-pleasant mood was it that he re-entered the cottage, where his mother was busy in preparing a very formidable cravat for the approaching dinner-party.
“Ah, Joe!” said she, anxiously, “if you were to dress now, and then stay quiet, you 'd be quite fresh when the time came; for, remember, it's not like your father you are, that has the world about him, and can converse about everything that comes uppermost; but with all your learning, you know, you always feel somehow—”
“Stupid, mother?”
“Not stupid, my dear, but depressed,—out of spirits in society; so that my advice to you is, now, dress yourself in good time, take a small glass of ginger-cordial, and throw your eye over the second chapter of 'Social Hints,' with an account of conversation before and at dinner, and some excellent advice about'compliments, meet for every season of the year.'”
“Do you think such preparations quite necessary, mother?” asked Joe, slyly; for he rather relished the simplicity of her counsels.
“To be sure, I do; for yours is no common difficulty, Joe. If you talk of country matters, you 'll get into Kyle's Wood and the Chancery suit; if you touch politics or religion, it will be worse again. The Martins, I hear, never play cards, so you can't allude to them; and they 'll be too grand to know anything about poor Miss Cuddy going off with the sergeant of police, or what Con Kelly did with his aunt's furniture.”
“So that really the topics open to me are marvellously few.”