More polite his address could not have been, but there was a something between him and Donal that was not to be passed—a nameless gulf of the negative.
“My time is at your lordship’s service,” replied Donal, with the ease that comes of simplicity.
“You have probably guessed why I sent for you?”
“I have hoped, my lord.”
There was something of old-world breeding about the lad that commended him to the earl. Such breeding is not rare among Celt-born peasants.
“My sons told me that they had met a young man in the grounds—”
“For which I beg your lordship’s pardon,” said Donal. “I did not know the place was forbidden.”
“I hope you will soon be familiar with it. I am glad of your mistake. From what they said, I supposed you might be a student in want of a situation, and I had been looking out for a young man to take charge of the boy: it seemed possible you might serve my purpose. I do not question you can show yourself fit for such an office: I presume it would suit you. Do you believe yourself one to be so trusted?”
Donal had not a glimmer of false modesty; he answered immediately,
“I do, my lord.”