"You have not lost your good spirits anyhow, O'Grady."
"I never shall, I hope, O'Connor; and even if I had been inclined to, Terence would have brought them back again."
As they stood chatting, a manservant had placed the portmanteaus on the box of a pretty open carriage, drawn by two horses.
"This is our state carriage, Terence, though we don't use it very often for, when I go about by myself, I ride. Mary has a pony carriage, and drives herself about.
"You remember Pat Cassidy, don't you?"
"Of course I do, now I look at him," Terence said. "It's your old soldier servant," and he shook hands with the man. "He did not come home with you, did he, father?"
"No, he was badly wounded at Talavera, and invalided home. They thought that he would not be fit for service again, and so discharged him; and he found his way here, and glad enough I was to have him."
Aided by his father and O'Grady, Terence took his place in the carriage. His father seated himself by his side, while Mary and O'Grady had the opposite seat.
"There is one advantage in losing legs," O'Grady said. "We can stow away much more comfortably in a carriage. Is this the nearest point to your place?"
"Yes. It is four miles nearer than Ballyhovey, so we thought that we might as well meet you here, and more comfortably than meeting you in the town. It was Mary's suggestion. I think she would not have liked to have kissed Terence in the public street."