"We were getting on very well," Ned said, "until the English came. This was the last thing we did and after this no more."
On another occasion he ascribed the failure of the Irish in art and literature to the fact that they had always loved the next world, and that the beautiful world under their feet had been neglected or given over to priests. "I hope, Ned," said she, "that you will soon be at the head of affairs."
He took her hand and they wandered on amid the ruins, saying that as soon as their honeymoon was over they were going to live in a pretty house at the foot of the Dublin mountains.
Her father had offered to make her an allowance, but she preferred a lump sum, and this lump sum of many thousands of pounds had been invested in foreign securities, for Ellen wished that Ned should be free to advocate whatever policy he judged best for Ireland.
"My dear, shall we buy this table?"
And while the price and the marquetry were discussed she remembered suddenly that a most experienced electioneering agent was coming to dinner.
"I wish you hadn't asked him," said Ned; "I looked forward to spending the evening with you," and he watched happiness flash into her eyes.
"There are plenty of evenings before us, and I hope you won't be tired of spending them with me."
He said he never wished for better company, and they strolled on through the show-rooms.
Turning from some tapestried curtains, he told her he was weary of the life of the camp. One night in Cuba they had crossed a mountain by a bridle-path. At the top of the mountain they had come to a ledge of rock three feet high and had to leap their horses one by one up this ledge, and the enemy might have attacked them at any moment. And this incident was typical of what his life had been for the last few years. It had been a skein of adventure, and now his wife was his adventure. Flowers stood in pretty vases on his table in the summer-time and around the room were his books, and on the table his pens and paper. The dining-room was always a little surprise, so profusely was the table covered with silver. There were beautiful dinner and dessert services to look at; the servants were well trained, they moved about the table quickly—in a word, his home was full of grace and beauty. Lately he had been a great deal from home and had come to look on Ellen as a delicious recompense for the fatigue of a week's electioneering in the West. The little train journey from Dublin was an extraordinary excitement, the passing of the stations one by one, the discovery of his wife on the platform, and walking home through the bright evening, telling how his speech had been received.