'Ha! ha! ha!—That was neat, I grant you, Terry,' said Lord Clonbrony. 'But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriffs fellow have been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!'
'But stay, my lord—stay, Miss Nugent—I have more for you,' following her wherever she moved. 'I did not let him off so, even. At the cant, I bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I, left him on their hands for 500 guineas. Ha! ha! ha!—was not that famous?'
'But,' said Miss Nugent, 'I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir Terence. Surely this would be—'
'What?—out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.'
'I am afraid of offending you.'
'You can't, my dear, I defy you—say the word that came to the tongue's end; it's always the best.'
'I was going to say, swindling,' said the young lady, colouring deeply.
'Oh! you was going to say wrong, then! It's not called swindling amongst gentlemen who know the world—it's only jockeying—fine sport—and very honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Anything to get a friend out of a present pressing difficulty.'
'And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of the future?'
'The future! leave the future to posterity,' said Sir Terence; 'I'm counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it's time enough to think of it. I can't bring the guns of my wits to bear till the enemy's alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of battle.'