“As if anything about me mattered just now,” said Nora.
“Why, what's up?”
“The old thing, Terry; you must know what's up.”
“What old thing? I am sure I can't guess.”
“Well, then, if you can't you ought. Father is in a peck of trouble—a peck of trouble.”
Nora's voice broke and trembled. Terence, who disliked a scene beyond anything, fidgeted restlessly. He leaned out of the window, and dropped his cigar ash on the ground beneath.
“And you are his only son and the heir to Castle O'Shanaghgan.”
“The heir to a pack of ruins,” said the boy impatiently.
“Terry, you don't deserve to be father's son. How dare you speak like that of the—the beloved old place?”
“Come, come, Nora, if you are going into heroics I think I'll be off to bed,” said Terence, yawning.