He thus proceeded with his soliloquy until he reached the garden, where he found Reilly and her arranging the plants and flowers in a superb green-house.
“Well, Helen, my love, how is the greenhouse doing? Eh! why, what is this?”
At this exclamation the lovers started, but the old fellow was admiring the improvement, which even he couldn't but notice.
“Why, what is this?” he proceeded; “by the light of day, Helen, you have made this a little paradise of flowers.”
“It was not I, papa,” she replied; “all that I have been able to contribute to the order; and beauty of the place has been very slight indeed. It is all the result of this poor man's taste and skill. He's an admirable botanist.”
“By the great Boyne, my girl, I think he could lick Malcomson himself, as a botanist.”
“Shir,” observed Reilly, “the young lady is underwaluin' herself; sure, miss, it was yourself directed me what to do, and how to do it.”
“Look at that old chap, Helen,” said her father, who felt in great good humor; first, because he found that Helen was safe; and again, because Sir Robert, as the unsuspecting old man thought, had cleared up the circumstances of Miss Herbert's imposture; “I say, Helen, look at that old chap: isn't he a nice bit of goods to run away with a pretty girl? and what a taste she must have had to go with him! Upon my soul, it beats cock-fighting—confound me, but it does.”
