“That’s the Irish question,” remarked Lord Innisfail, who was steering his own cutter.
He nodded in the direction of the waves that were clambering up the headlands. What he meant exactly he might have had difficulty in explaining.
“Very true, very true,” said Mr. Durdan, sagaciously, hoping to provoke Mr. Airey to reply, and thinking it likely that he would learn from Mr. Airey’s reply what was Lord Innisfail’s meaning.
But Mr. Airey, who had long ago become acquainted with Mr. Durdan’s political methods, did not feel it incumbent on him to make the attempt to grapple with the question—if it was a question—suggested by Lord Innisfail.
The metaphor of a host should not, he knew, be considered too curiously. Like the wit of a police-court magistrate, it should be accepted with effusion.
“Stand by that foresheet,” said Lord Innisfail to one of the yacht’s hands. “We’ll heave to until the other craft come up.”
In a few moments the cutter had all way off her, and was simply tumbling about among the waves in a way that made some of the ship’s company hold their breath and think longingly of pale brandy.
The cruise of the Acushla and the appearance of the fleet of boats upon the lough were due to the untiring energy of Lady Innisfail and to the fact that at last Brian, the boatman, had, by the help of Father Conn, come to grasp something of the force of the phrase “local colour”.
Lady Innisfail was anxious that her guests should carry away certain definite impressions of their sojourn at the Connaught castle beyond those that may be acquired at any country-house, which everyone knows may be comprised in a very few words. A big shoot, and an incipient scandal usually constitute the record of a country-house entertainment. Now, it was not that Lady Innisfail objected to a big shoot or an incipient scandal—she admitted that both were excellent in their own way—but she hoped to do a great deal better for her guests. She hoped to impart to their visit some local colour.
She had hung on to the wake and the eviction, as has already been told, with pertinacity. The fête which she believed was known to the Irish peasantry as the Cruiskeen, had certainly some distinctive features; though just as she fancied that the Banshee was within her grasp, it had vanished into something substantial—this was the way she described the scene on the cliffs. Although her guests said they were very well satisfied with what they had seen and heard, adding that they had come to the conclusion that if the Irish had only a touch of humour they would be true to the pictures that had been drawn of them, still Lady Innisfail was not satisfied.