The blood mounted to the youth's cheek, till it became almost purple, but he did not utter a word.
“'Tis the O'Donoghue, my lady,' said I,” continued Joe, who saw the difficulty of the moment, and hastened to relieve it—“that's his castle up there, with the high tower. 'Twas there the family lived these nine hundred years, whin the whole country was their own; and they wor kings here.”
“And did you hear what the ould gentleman said then?” asked Jim.
“No, I didn't—I wasn't mindin' him,” rejoined Joe; endeavouring with all his might to repress the indiscreet loquacity of the other.
“What was it, Jim?” said the young man, with a forced smile.
“Faix, he begun a laughing, yer honour, and says he, 'We must pay our respects at Coort,' says he; 'and I'm sure we'll be well received, for we know his Royal Highness already—that's what he called yer honour.”
The youth sprang to his feet, with a gesture so violent and sudden, as to startle the whole party.
“What,” he exclaimed, “and are we sunk so low, as to be a scoff and a jibe to a London money-changer? If I but heard him speak the words—”
“Arrah, he never said it at all,” said Joe, with a look that made his counterpart tremble all over. “That bosthoon there, would make you believe he was in the coach, convarsing the whole way with him. Sure wasn't I riding the wheeler, and never heerd a word of it. Whisht, I tell ye, and don't provoke me.”
“Ay, stop your mouth with some of this,” interposed Mary, as she helped the smoking and savoury mess around the table.