Lord Colambre smiled. 'As to Isabel,' pursued her ladyship, 'I shall put her in charge of Heathcock, who is going with us. She won't thank me for that, but you will. Nay, no fibs, man; you know, I know, as who does not that has seen the world, that though a pretty woman is a mighty pretty thing, yet she is confoundedly in one's way, when anything else is to be seen, heard—or understood.'
Every objection anticipated and removed, and so far a prospect held out of attaining all the information he desired, with more than all the amusement he could have expected, Lord Colambre seemed much tempted to accept the invitation; but he hesitated, because, as he said, her ladyship might be going to pay visits where he was not acquainted.
'Bless you! don't let that be a stumbling-block in the way of your tender conscience. I am going to Killpatrickstown, where you'll be as welcome as light. You know them, they know you; at least you shall have a proper letter of invitation from my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick, and all that. And as to the rest, you know a young man is always welcome every-where, a young nobleman kindly welcome,—I won't say such a young man, and such a young nobleman, for that might put you to pour bows or your blushes—but NOBILITAS by itself, nobility is enough in all parties, in all families, where there are girls, and of course balls, as there are always at Killpatrickstown. Don't be alarmed; you shall not be forced to dance, or asked to marry. I'll be your security. You shall be at full liberty; and it is a house where you can do just what you will. Indeed, I go to no others. These Killpatricks are the best creatures in the world; they think nothing good or grand enough for me. If I'd let them, they would lay down cloth of gold over their bogs for me to walk upon.—Good-hearted beings!' added Lady Dashfort, marking a cloud gathering on Lord Colambre's countenance. 'I laugh at them, because I love them. I could not love anything I might not laugh at—your lordship excepted. So you'll come—that's settled.'
And so it was settled. Our hero went to Killpatrickstown.
'Everything here sumptuous and unfinished, you see,' said Lady Dashfort to Lord Colambre, the day after their arrival. 'All begun as if the projectors thought they had the command of the mines of Peru, and ended as if the possessors had not sixpence; DES ARRANGEMENS PROVISATOIRES, temporary expedients; in plain English, MAKE-SHIFTS. Luxuries, enough for an English prince of the blood; comforts, not enough for an English woman. And you may be sure that great repairs and alterations have gone on to fit this house for our reception, and for our English eyes!—Poor people!—English visitors, in this point of view, are horribly expensive to the Irish. Did you ever hear that, in the last century, or in the century before the last, to put my story far enough back, so that it shall not touch anybody living; when a certain English nobleman, Lord Blank A—, sent to let his Irish friend, Lord Blank B—, know that he and all his train were coming over to pay him a visit; the Irish nobleman, Blank B—, knowing the deplorable condition of his castle, sat down fairly to calculate whether it would cost him most to put the building in good and sufficient repair, fit to receive these English visitors, or to burn it to the ground. He found the balance to be in favour of burning, which was wisely accomplished next day. Perhaps Killpatrick would have done well to follow this example. Resolve me which is worst, to be burnt out of house and home, or to be eaten out of house and home. In this house, above and below stairs, including first and second table, housekeeper's room, lady's maids' room, butler's room, and gentleman's, one hundred and four people sit down to dinner every day, as Petito informs me, beside kitchen boys, and what they call CHAR-women who never sit down, but who do not eat or waste the less for that; and retainers and friends, friends to the fifth and sixth generation, who "must get their bit and their sup;" for, "sure, it's only Biddy," they say,' continued Lady Dashfort, imitating their Irish brogue, 'find, "sure, 'tis nothing at all, out of all his honour, my lord, has. How could he FEEL it! [Feel it: become sensible of it, know it.] Long life to him! He's not that way: not a couple in all Ireland, and that's saying a great dale, looks less after their own, nor is more off-handeder, or open-hearteder, or greater open-house-keepers, NOR [than] my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick." Now there's encouragement for a lord and a lady to ruin themselves.'
Lady Dashfort imitated the Irish brogue in perfection; boasted that 'she was mistress of fourteen different brogues, and had brogues for all occasions.' By her mixture of mimickry, sarcasm, exaggeration, and truth, she succeeded continually in making Lord Colambre laugh at everything at which she wished to make him laugh; at every THING, but not every BODY whenever she became personal, he became serious, or at least endeavoured to become serious; and if he could not instantly resume the command of his risible muscles, he reproached himself.
'It is shameful to laugh at these people, indeed, Lady Dashfort, in their own house—these hospitable people, who are entertaining us.'
'Entertaining us! true, and if we are ENTERTAINED, how can we help laughing?'
All expostulation was thus turned off by a jest, as it was her pride to make Lord Colambre laugh in spite of his better feelings and principles. This he saw, and this seemed to him to be her sole object; but there he was mistaken. OFF-HANDED as she pretended to be, none dealt more in the IMPROMPTU FAIT A LOISIR; and mentally short-sighted as she affected to be, none had more LONGANIMITY for their own interest.
It was her settled purpose to make the Irish and Ireland ridiculous and contemptible to Lord Colambre; to disgust him with his native country; to make him abandon the wish of residing on his own estate. To confirm him an absentee was her object previously to her ultimate plan of marrying him to her daughter. Her daughter was poor, she would therefore be glad to GET an Irish peer for her; but would be very sorry, she said, to see Isabel banished to Ireland; and the young widow declared she could never bring herself to be buried alive in Clonbrony Castle.