“Your sentiments do you honour,” the other said. “But, Captain Costigan, I can’t help smiling at one thing you have just said.”
“And what’s that, sir?” asked Jack, who was at a too heroic and sentimental pitch to descend from it.
“You were speaking about our splendid mansion—my sister’s house, I mean.”
“I mane the park and mansion of Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of Fairoaks Park, whom I hope to see a Mimber of Parliament for his native town of Clavering, when he is of ege to take that responsible stetion,” cried the Captain with much dignity.
The Major smiled as he recognised a shaft of his own bow. It was he who had set Pen upon the idea of sitting in Parliament for the neighbouring borough—and the poor lad had evidently been bragging on the subject to Costigan and the lady of his affections. “Fairoaks Park, my dear sir,” he said. “Do you know our history? We are of excessively ancient family certainly, but I began life with scarce enough money to purchase my commission, and my eldest brother was a country apothecary: who made every shilling he died possessed of out of his pestle and mortar.”
“I have consented to waive that objection, sir,” said Costigan majestically, “in consideration of the known respectability of your family.”
“Curse your impudence,” thought the Major; but he only smiled and bowed.
“The Costigans, too, have met with misfortunes; and our house of Castle Costigan is by no manes what it was. I have known very honest men apothecaries, sir, and there’s some in Dublin that has had the honour of dining at the Lord Leftenant’s teeble.”
“You are very kind to give us the benefit of your charity,” the Major continued: “but permit me to say that is not the question. You spoke just now of my little nephew as heir of Fairoaks Park and I don’t know what besides.”
“Funded property, I’ve no doubt, Meejor, and something handsome eventually from yourself.”