"Has he changed?" he asked again in his dry, precise voice.
Burke was silent while the mare pulled hard on the reins. And having regained his mastery over her, he looked down on his companion.
"Is it changed?" he said. "Sure, why wouldn't he be changed? With the father gone—an' the wife gone—an' the children growin' up. Sure 'tis changed we all are, an' goin' down the hill fast—God help us!"
Milbanke glanced up sharply.
"Children?" he said. "Children?"
Burke turned in his seat.
"Sure 'tisn't to have the ould stock die out you'd be wantin'?" he said. "You'd travel the round of the county before you'd see the like of Mister Dinis's children—though 'tis girls they are."
"Girls?" Milbanke's mind was disturbed by the thought of children. Denis Asshlin with children! The idea was incongruous.
"Two of 'em!" said Burke laconically.
"Dear me!—dear me! And yet I suppose it's only natural. How old are they?"