“Terence is not a patch upon Nora, my dear Grace.”
“There I cannot agree with you. I infinitely prefer Terence to Nora,” was Mrs. Hartrick's calm reply.
“But I thought you admired the child.”
“Oh, I admire what the child may become,” was the cautious answer. “I cannot admire a perfectly wild girl, who has no idea of self-discipline or self-restraint. And remember one thing, George: whatever she says to you, you must take, to use a vulgarism, with a grain of salt. An Irish girl cannot help exaggerating. She has doubtless exaggerated the condition of things.”
“I only pray God she has,” was Mr. Hartrick's reply.
“If things are even half as bad as she represents them, it is high time that I should pay my sister a visit.”
“Why? What does she say?”
“She has given me a picture of the state of affairs at that house which wrings my heart, Grace. To think that my beautiful sister Ellen should be subjected to such discomforts, to such miseries, is intolerable. I intend to go to O'Shanaghgan to-morrow, and will see how matters are for myself.”
Mrs. Hartrick was again silent for a moment or two; then she said gravely:
“Doubtless you are right to do this; but I hope, while you are away, you will do nothing rash.”