Lord Kilgobbin Part 56

'Is this a question?' asked she. 'I mean a question seeking to be answered?'

'I hope so.'

'a.s.suredly, then, Mr. O'Shea, however time has been dealing with _me_, it has contrived to take marvellous liberties with _you_ since we met. Do you know, sir, that this is a speech you would not have uttered long ago for worlds?'

'If I have forgotten myself as well as you,' said he, with deep humility, 'I very humbly crave pardon. Not but there were days, 'added he, 'when my mistake, if I made one, would have been forgiven without my asking.'

'There's a slight touch of presumption, sir, in telling me what a wonderful person I used to think you long ago.'

'So you did,' cried he eagerly. 'In return for the homage I laid at your feet--as honest an adoration as ever a heart beat with--you condescended to let me build my ambitions before you, and I must own you made the edifice very dear to me.'

'To be sure, I do remember it all, and I used to play or sing, "_Mein Schatz ist ein Reiter_," and take your word that you were going to be a Lancer--

"In file arrayed, With helm and blade, And plume in the gay wind dancing."

I'm certain my cousin would be charmed to see you in all your bravery.'

'Your cousin will not speak to me for being an Austrian.'

'Has she told you so?'

'Yes, she said it at breakfast.'

'That denunciation does not sound very dangerously; is it not worth your while to struggle against a misconception?'

'I have had such luck in my present attempt as should scarcely raise my courage.'

'You are too ingenious by far for me, Mr. O'Shea,' said she carelessly. 'I neither remember so well as you, nor have I that nice subtlety in detecting all the lapses each of us has made since long ago. Try, however, if you cannot get on better with Mademoiselle Kostalergi, where there are no antecedents to disturb you.'

'I will; that is if she let me.'

'I trust she may, and not the less willingly, perhaps, as she evidently will not speak to Mr. Walpole.'

'Ah, indeed, and is _he_ here?' he stopped and hesitated; and the full bold look she gave him did not lessen his embarra.s.sment.

'Well, sir,' asked she, 'go on: is this another reminiscence?'

'No, Miss Kearney; I was only thinking of asking you who this Mr. Walpole was.'

'Mr. Cecil Walpole is a nephew or a something to the Lord-Lieutenant, whose private secretary he is. He is very clever, very amusing--sings, draws, rides, and laughs at the Irish to perfection. I hope you mean to like him.'

'Do you?'

'Of course, or I should not have bespoken your sympathy. My cousin used to like him, but somehow he has fallen out of favour with her.'

'Was he absent some time?' asked he, with a half-cunning manner.

'Yes, I believe there was something of that in it. He was not here for a considerable time, and when we saw him again, we almost owned we were disappointed. Papa is calling me from the window, pray excuse me for a moment.' She left him as she spoke, and ran rapidly back to the house, whence she returned almost immediately. 'It was to ask you to stop and dine here, Mr. O'Shea,' said she. 'There will be ample time to send back to Miss O'Shea, and if you care to have your dinner-dress, they can send it.'

'This is Mr. Kearney's invitation?' asked he.

'Of course; papa is the master at Kilgobbin.'

'But will Miss Kearney condescend to say that it is hers also.'

'Certainly, though I'm not aware what solemnity the engagement gains by my co-operation.'

'I accept at once, and if you allow me, I'll go back and send a line to my aunt to say so.'

'Don't you remember Mr. O'Shea, d.i.c.k?' asked she, as her brother lounged up, making his first appearance that day.

'I'd never have known you,' said he, surveying him from head to foot, without, however, any mark of cordiality in the recognition.

'All find me a good deal changed!' said the young fellow, drawing himself to his full height, and with an air that seemed to say--'and none the worse for it.'

'I used to fancy I was more than your match,' rejoined d.i.c.k, smiling; 'I suspect it's a mistake I am little likely to incur again.'

'Don't, d.i.c.k, for he has got a very ugly way of ridding people of their illusions,' said Kate, as she turned once more and walked rapidly towards the house.

CHAPTER XLI

TWO FAMILIAR EPISTLES

There were a number of bolder achievements Gorman O'Shea would have dared rather than write a note; nor were the cares of the composition the only difficulties of the undertaking. He knew of but one style of correspondence--the report to his commanding officer, and in this he was aided by a formula to be filled up. It was not, then, till after several efforts, he succeeded in the following familiar epistle:--

'KILGOBBIN CASTLE.

'DEAR AUNT,--Don't blow up or make a rumpus, but if I had not taken the mare and come over here this morning, the rascally police with their search-warrant might have been down upon Mr. Kearney without a warning.

They were all stiff and cold enough at first: they are nothing to brag of in the way of cordiality even yet--d.i.c.k especially--but they have asked me to stay and dine, and, I take it, it is the right thing to do. Send me over some things to dress with--and believe me your affectionate nephew,

'G. O'SHEA.

'I send the mare back, and shall walk home to-morrow morning.

'There's a great Castle swell here, a Mr. Walpole, but I have not made his acquaintance yet, and can tell nothing about him.'

Towards a late hour of the afternoon a messenger arrived with an a.s.s-cart and several trunks from O'Shea's Barn, and with the following note:--

'DEAR NEPHEW GORMAN,--O'Shea's Barn is not an inn, nor are the horses there at public livery. So much for your information. As you seem fond of "warnings," let me give you one, which is, To mind your own affairs in preference to the interests of other people. The family at Kilgobbin are perfectly welcome--so far as I am concerned--to the fascinations of your society at dinner to-day, at breakfast to-morrow, and so on, with such regularity and order as the meals succeed. To which end, I have now sent you all the luggage belonging to you here.--I am, very respectfully, your aunt, ELIZABETH O'SHEA.'

The quaint, old-fashioned, rugged writing was marked throughout by a certain distinctness and accuracy that betoken care and attention--there was no evidence whatever of haste or pa.s.sion--and this expression of a serious determination, duly weighed and resolved on, made itself very painfully felt by the young man as he read.