"Yes, I think it will keep fine."
"Well, then, let us walk."
"But I forgot to tell you there is no place to walk to."
"Oh, yes, there is. I know more of the neighbourhood than you, short a time as I have been here."
"Where?"
"Kilcash House. Jerry, don't laugh or don't abuse me. I can't help it. Let me see where she lived--where she will live again."
CHAPTER XXXVI.
[SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.]
When Mrs. Davenport reached the "Tourists' Hotel," she asked to be shown into a private sitting-room. She had slept in the boat, and was in no need of repose. In reply to the servant, she desired breakfast to be brought, and asked for writing materials. She wrote out a telegram to Blake: "I am staying at the 'Tourists', and shall await you here." She wrote a couple of notes of no consequence, and then breakfasted. At the very earliest Blake could not reach Dublin until that evening. In the meantime she would go and see her late husband's solicitor, Mr. Vincent Lonergan.
The old attorney received Mrs. Davenport with the most elaborate courtesy. He was tall, round-shouldered, white-haired, white-bearded, fresh-coloured, slow, oracular. He congratulated himself on meeting her for the first time, and fished up phrases of sympathy and condolence out of his inner consciousness, as though he was the first man in the world who had ever to refer to such matters. Then he paused, partly that his elaborate commonplaces might have time to sink into her mind, and partly that she might have time to collect her thoughts and bring her mind to the business of her visit.