Jane did not like the remark, and being quite as caustic as her brother, she replied:
“I am glad that in the midst of your troubles, and I think you will find them difficult to get over, that you have room for ridiculous remarks.”
“Tut,” laughed the Baronet, “you take a joke too seriously; but do you know, did you ever hear, what kind of girl this Mabel is; when a child, she was a puny, pale-faced, half-starved looking thing.”
“I know nothing about her,” returned Miss Jane, sharply. “I suppose you can get a look at her if you like; I heard Ellen Goodridge say, who knows the Volneys, and visits at Madame’s Villa, she was well enough, but very shy and serious.”
“So much the better; qualities I should admire in a wife. One of those Volney girls I understand is going to be married to that Irishman O’Loughlin, who has just been made a commander. He has impudence and brass enough for anything; but how a high family like the Volneys can tolerate a fellow, whom I myself heard say, he ‘never had a father or a mother, and that his huge fist was father, mother, and grand-mother to him, and a whole host of relations besides’—I can’t comprehend.”
“Horrid savage!” said Miss Jane. “What is he like? a sedan-chair man, I suppose? All the sedan-chair men in London are Irishmen—they have such large legs.”
“Which is the reason they are selected by the fashionable ladies,” said the Baronet; “to sport behind their carriages, with calves to their legs like Swedish turnips.”
As the Baronet said these words, the door opened, and a domestic entered the room with a card on a silver salver.
“A gentleman below, sir, in the reception-room, wishes particularly to see you.”
Sir Howard Etherton took the card, gave a slight start, changing colour as he read aloud, “Captain O’Loughlin.”