Her sister was as thin as the handle of a sweeping-brush, and had dark eyes twinkling like stars on a vapoury evening; with yellow skin, black hair, a mouth literally stretching across the face, (like a foss to protect her chin,) very red lips, and much more vivacity than comprehension. There were few sound teeth in the whole family, and none that a dentist would think worth the expense of dressing.
For these two amiable young ladies it was the principal object of my aunt to procure husbands, if possible, in the neighbourhood. But the squires were shy of matching into the family of so great an oddity as my uncle. They preferred getting wives among people who went on the jog-trot of the world like themselves.
On this point my uncle and aunt entirely differed; and during the discussions as to their differences, time ran on, nothing was done for the ladies, and Miss Dolly was in her six-and-twentieth year before she was fully emancipated from the discipline of the nursery and suffered to dine at papa’s table. When that important period arrived, it was considered as a great epocha at Moret Castle; all the neighbours were invited, and Dolly’s majority was formally announced. She was then given to understand she might thereafter dine at the great table, speak to any gentleman she pleased, and, in short, have full liberty to act entirely as she thought proper, provided she always previously consulted her father’s will, and obeyed it without “questions asked.” She was likewise enjoined to take especial care not to forget her pastry.[[56]]
[56]. The Irish ladies in the country at that period were always taught the art of pie and dumpling making, as a necessary accomplishment; and a husband who liked a good table always preferred a housekeeper to a gadder. Tempora mutantur!
On these free and happy terms, Dolly was to have the chariot for a day, and to set the world on fire. The old carriage was accordingly cleared for action from the dust accumulated upon it; the horses’ tails were trimmed; and the young lady was to go to the church of Portarlington the ensuing Sunday—“Where,” said my uncle to his spouse, “fore gad, Kate, our Dolly will catch some young fellow after the service is over, either in the aisle or the churchyard. She’ll have some proposals; but, fore gad, it’s not every body I’d give her to.”
“Don’t be too sure, Stephen,” rejoined my aunt. “You keep your daughters as if they were haunches of venison. It’s not every body who has a taste for meat that has been hung a fortnight in the larder to give it a flavor. The men, I tell you, like fresh and fresh, Stephen; and be assured you have kept Dolly too long to suit every man’s palate. I have always been telling you so, but you are perpetually saying you’ll be the head of your own family; so now you’ll see the end of it!”
“Why, Kate, you were a good while in the larder yourself at Timahoe before you got a husband,” replied my uncle.
“I may thank the smallpox for that, Stephen,” retorted my aunt: “only for that enemy I should never have been mistress of Moret Castle, Counsellor Stephen being governor of it!”