“Oh, Nora, couldn't we get a bit of a place just like the old place, all to ourselves?”
“I'll think it over,” said Nora; “we'll manage somehow. We can't stand feather-beds for ever and ever, father.”
“Hark to her,” said the Squire; “you're a girl after my own heart, Light o' the Morning, and it's glad I am to see you, and to have you back again.”
CHAPTER XXIX. — ALTERATIONS.
While Nora and her father were talking together there came a sound of a ponderous gong through the house.
“What's that?” said Nora, starting.
“You may well ask 'What's that?'” replied the Squire. “It's the dinner-gong. There's dinner now in the evening, bedad! and up to seven courses, by the same token. I sat out one or two of them; but, bless my soul! I couldn't stand too much of that sort of thing. You had best go and put on something fine. Your mother dresses in velvet and silk and jewels for dinner. She looks wonderful; she is a very fine woman indeed, is your mother. I am as proud as Punch of her; but, all the same, it is too much to endure every day. She is dressed for all the world as though she were going to a ball at the Lord-Lieutenant's in Dublin. It's past standing; but you had best go down and join 'em, Norrie.”
“Not I. I am going to stay here,” said Nora.