ed, he is a marvellously well-looking
young gentleman; and as--"

What the remainder of the sentence might be, I knew not, for I rushed
down into the cabin, and locking the door, never opened it till I could
perceive from the stern windows that we were really off on our way to
England, and recognized once more the laughing face of O'Flaherty, who,
as he waved his hat to his friends from the pier, reminded them that
"they were under the care and protection of his friend Lorrequer, who, he
trusted, would condescend to increase his wearing apparel under the
circumstances."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE JOURNEY.

When I did at last venture upon deck, it was with a costume studiously
accurate, and as much of manner as I could possibly muster, to endeavour
at once to erase the unfortunate impression of my first appearance; this,
however, was not destined to be a perfectly successful manoeuvre, and I
was obliged after a few minutes to join the laugh, which I found could
not be repressed, at my expense. One good result certainly followed from
all this. I became almost immediately on intimate terms with Mrs.
Bingham and her daughter, and much of the awkwardness in my position as
their chaperon, which bon gre, mal gre I was destined to be, was at once
got over. Mrs. Bingham herself was of that "genre" of widow which comes
under the "fat, fair, and forty" category, with a never-ceasing flow of
high, almost boisterous, spirits--an excellent temper, good health
--and a well-stocked purse. Life to her was like a game of her favourite
"speculation." When, as she believed, the "company honest," and knew her
cards trumps, she was tolerably easy for the result. She liked
Kingstown--she liked short whist--she liked the military--she liked "the
junior bar," of which she knew a good number--she had a well furnished
house in Kildare-street--and a well cushioned pew in St. Anne's--she was
a favourite at the castle--and Dr. Labatt "knew her constitution." Why,
with all these advantages, she should ever have thought of leaving the
"happy valley" of her native city, it was somewhat hard to guess. Was it
that thoughts of matrimony, which the continent held out more prospect
for, had invaded the fair widow's heart? was it that the altered
condition to which politics had greatly reduced Dublin, had effected this
change of opinion? or was it like that indescribable longing for the
unknown something, which we read of in the pathetic history o