“I am delighted to hear it,” I replied. “If you had not formed a preconceived idea that I was a Yankee, I know you would have noticed my Cork brogue at once.”
While we were talking, Willy came up.
“Are you nearly done your tea?” he demanded. “The trap is at the door some time.”
He remained standing before me, as if he expected me to get up at once. That something had annoyed him was evident, and, feeling that delay was unadvisable, I swallowed my tea with all possible despatch, and made my adieux.
Nugent came to the hall door with us.
“Then, may I come over on Tuesday?” he said, tucking in the rug for me, while Willy silently picked up the reins, and took the whip out of the rest, “or any other day that would suit you would do for——” The rest of the sentence was lost, as Willy, without further ceremony, drove away.
“Very well—Tuesday!” I screamed back, as we whirled down the avenue. “My dear Willy, I don’t know why you were in such a desperate hurry,” I went on, rather crossly.
“Well, how was I to know he had anything more to say?” retorted Willy, with equal ill-temper. “I’m sure he had plenty of time to settle everything before we left the house. I wasn’t going to keep the mare standing, if he chose to go on prating there.”
“I don’t suppose another five seconds would have done her any mortal injury, and I think you might have risked it for the sake of civility.”
He did not answer, and we drove along in silence, Willy maintaining a demeanour of unbending severity, and affecting to be altogether occupied with his driving.