“Come, baronet,” said he, “here's my arm. I am the old man, and you are the old lady; and now for dinner.”
In the meantime Reilly and the Cooleen Bawn had gone far enough in advance to be in a condition to speak without being heard.
“That,” said she, “is the husband my father intends for me, or, rather, did intend; for, do you know, that you have found such favor in his sight that—that—” she hesitated, and Reilly, looking into her face, saw that she blushed deeply, and he felt by her arm that her whole frame trembled with emotion.
“Proceed, dearest love,” said he; “what is it?”
“I have not time to tell you now,” she replied, “but he mentioned a project to me which, if it could be accomplished, would seal both your happiness and mine forever. Your religion is the only obstacle.”
“And that, my love,” he replied, “is an insurmountable one.”
“Alas! I feared as much,” she replied, sighing bitterly as she spoke.
The old squire took the head of the table, and requested Sir Robert to take the foot; his daughter was at his right hand, and Reilly opposite her, by which means, although denied any confidential use of the tongue, their eyes enjoyed very gratifying advantages, and there passed between them occasionally some of those rapid glances which, especially when lovers are under surveillance, concentrate in their lightning flash more significance, more hope, more joy, and more love, than ever was conveyed by the longest and tenderest gaze of affection under other circumstances.
“Mr. Reilly,” said the squire, “I'm told that you are a very well educated man; indeed, the thing is evident. What, let me ask, is your opinion of education in general?”
“Why, sir,” replied Reilly, “I think there can be but one opinion about it. Without education a people can never be moral, prosperous, or happy. Without it, how are they to learn the duties of this life, or those still more important ones that prepare them for a better?”