“I'm not thinking of going, mother. I never meant to go,” said Joe, resolutely.
“Never meant to go, after your father's note to you, Joe?” cried she, in half horror. “Surely it's all as one as ordering you up there.”
“I know all that,” said he, calmly; “but I see no reason why I should forego the pleasure of a party at the Martins' for the sake of meeting the convivial celebrities of Oughterard.”
“But what will you say?”
“Say I'm engaged; have accepted another invitation; or, better still, leave you to make my excuses, mother. Come, come, don't look so terribly shocked and terrified. You know well enough that my father's four-year-old mutton and his crusted port will compensate the company for heavier inflictions than my absence.”
“They were always fond of you, Joe,” said Mrs. Nelligan, half reproachfully.
“Nothing of the kind, mother; they never cared for me, nor was there any reason why they should. I 'm sure I never cared for them. We endured one another; that was all.”
“Oh, dear; but I 'm glad your father is not listening to you,” said she, with a stealthy glance around, as though not perfectly assured of secrecy. “So, then, I suppose, there 's nothing for it but to go up myself and make the best of it; and sure it's all a lottery what temper he 's in, and how he 'll take it. I remember when they put the new duty on—what was it, Joe? I think it was hides—”
“Not the least matter, mother; you 've only to say that Mr. Martin has been kind enough to show me some attentions, and that I am silly enough—if you like to say so—to prefer them to the festive pleasures of Oughterard. In another week or so I shall have to go back to college. Let me, at least, enjoy the few days of my vacation in my own fashion.”
Mrs. Nelligan shook her head mournfully over these signs of rebellion, and muttering many a gloomy foreboding, she went off to her room to make her preparations for the journey.