ate, sorrow for the mad extravagance of your past career.
Instead of that, you come gay, reckless, and unconcerned as ever; you
pick up the first jovial companion you meet, and with him disturb the
house at a most unseasonable hour. You are totally regardless of the
appointments you make; and plainly show, that as you come here solely
for your own pleasure, you consider it needless to consult my wishes
or my comfort. Are you aware that you kept your mother and myself two
hours waiting for dinner yesterday?"

The pathos with which Lord Cashel terminated his speech--and it was one
the thrilling effect of which he intended to be overwhelming--almost
restored Lord Kilcullen to his accustomed effrontery.

"My lord," he said, "I did not consider myself of sufficient importance
to have delayed your dinner ten minutes."

"I have always endeavoured, Kilcullen, to show the same respect to you
in my house, which my father showed to me in his; but you do not allow
me the opportunity. But let that pass; we have more important things to
speak of. When last we were here together why did you not tell me the
whole truth?"

"What truth, my lord?"

"About your debts, Kilcullen: why did you conceal from me their full
amount? Why, at any rate, did you take pains to make me think them so
much less than they really are?"

"Conceal, my lord?--that is hardly fair, considering that I told you
expressly I could not give you any idea what was the amount I owed. I
concealed nothing; if you deceived yourself, the fault was not mine."

"You could not but have known that the claims against you were much
larger than I supposed them to be--double, I suppose. Good heaven!--why
in ten years more, at this rate, you would more than consume the fee
simple of the whole property! What can I say to you, Kilcullen, to make
you look on your own conduct in the proper light?"

"I think you have said enough for the purpose; you have told me to
marry, and I have consented to do so."

"Do you think, Kilcullen, you have spent the last eight years in a way
which it can please a father to contemplate? Do you think I can look
back on your conduct with satisfaction or content? And yet you have no
regret to express for the past--no promises to make for the future. I
fear it is all in vain. I fear that what I am doing what I am striving
to do, is now all in vain. I fear it is hopeless to attempt to recall
you from the horrid, reckless, wicked mode of life you have