"Sing us some, and then we'll judge," said Sir Mark, suddenly interposing.
So Pat, nothing loth, went to the piano, and sang Moore's exquisite song, "She is far from the Land," in such a pathetic manner that he cast quite a gloom over the company, but restored the joyous tone by dashing into "Garryowen."
At the conclusion of Pat's ditties, Ronald and Foster arose to go, in spite of a chorus that it was early. But Mrs. Pellypop, on behalf of the clerical party, said it was late.
"Begad, the night's young, and the liquor's plentiful," said Pat, impudently.
"I never touch spirits," said Mrs. Pellypop, majestically.
"More's the pity," retorted Pat; "it 'ud keep the night air out, anyhow."
Mrs. Pellypop deigned no response to this flippancy, but sailed out of the room, and shortly afterwards departed with the Bishop, and her daughter.
Ronald and Foster had a glass of whisky and soda each while their dog-cart was being brought round, and then went off, Ronald promising to call next day.
"And you won't forget what I told you," said Carmela, as he went.
"No," replied Ronald, pressing her hand; "and mind you let me know when Vassalla comes down."