“The world is a tolerably wide one, and I 'm sure there is room for me somewhere, even without displacing another. But let us talk of anything else. How are the Nelligans? and Joe, what is he doing?”
“The old people are just as you left them; but Mr. Joseph is a great man now,—dines with the Lord-Lieutenant, and goes into all the grand society of Dublin.”
“Is he spoiled by his elevation?”
“Your father thinks him haughtier than he used to be; but many say that he is exactly what he always was. Mrs. Nelligan comes up frequently to the cottage now, and dines with Miss Martin. I 'm sure I don't know how my Lady would like to see her there.”
“She is not very likely,” said Kate, dryly.
“Why not?”
“I mean, that nothing is less probable than Lady Dorothea's return here.”
“I suppose not!” half sighed Mrs. Henderson, for hers was one of those sorrowful temperaments that extract only the bitter from the cup of life. In reality, she had little reason to wish for Lady Dorothea's presence, but still she could make a “very good grievance” out of her absence, and find it a fitting theme for regret. “What reason do you mean to give for your coming home, Kate, if he should ask you?” inquired she, after a pause.
“That I felt dissatisfied with my place,” replied Kate, coldly.
“And we were always saying what a piece of good luck it was for you to be there! Miss Mary told Mrs. Nelligan—it was only the other day—that her uncle could n't live without you,—that you nursed him, and read to him, and what not; and as to her Ladyship, that she never took a drive in the carriage, or answered a note, without asking your advice first.”